


Work in Progress

by Lecavayay



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abundant use of Nicknames, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Flirting, Humor, M/M, References to Canon, Semi-disregard for how a restaurant actually runs, Slow Build, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:27:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steven thought Puck was a fucking stupid name for a restaurant. </p><p>Because seriously, who wants to eat a burger from a place named Puck. But he inherited the place from Marty and Vinny and didn’t really have a say in the matter. It was all his now and rebranding just wasn’t in the budget.  Nothing was really in the budget but they needed a new bartender and a few more good servers who could put food on the tables in a timely and professional fashion. And another manager. Fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steven

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I've had in my head for a while and will be updated slowly. 
> 
> It loosely starts in 2012ish, ignoring the fact that most of these people weren't really on the team then. Just go with it. 
> 
> The whole Lightning crew will appear at some point but a few of them have been genderswapped -- Alexandra Killorn, Valarie Filppula, Carley Matthews (aka Matt Carle), and Nikki Nesterov -- because an entire restaurant staffed by men seemed weird.
> 
> Characters listed in the tags will have their own POV chapters.

Steven thought _Puck_ was a fucking stupid name for a restaurant.

Because seriously, who wants to eat a burger from a place named _Puck_. But he inherited the place from Marty and Vinny and didn’t really have a say in the matter. It was all his now and rebranding just wasn’t in the budget. Nothing was really in the budget but they needed a new bartender and a few more good servers who could put food on the tables in a timely and professional fashion. And another manager. Fuck.

“You’re hired,” he said to the rather tall, rather shaggy looking guy waiting at the bar.

“Really?”

Steven handed his application and resume back, barely looked through. “You have actual experience and know how to make drinks without looking at a recipe. So, yes. You’re hired. Killer can start training you tomorrow night.”

“Killer?”

“Alex. Sorry. Nicknames just kind of roll of the tongue.”

“Nah, man. That’s cool. Boyler suits me better, anyways,” he said, standing up.

He really was fucking huge. “Uh, so probably be here at six tomorrow. There’s a game on so we’ll be open late.”

“They play the Wings, right? This place get a big crowd for games?”

Steven put on his power-of-positive-thinking smile. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 _Puck_ was fuller than a normal night, Steven would give them that one. Val and Brenden were both working a pair of big parties and Stralsy was holding down a full wall of booths. The bar was pretty packed, too, covered over with a bunch of frat dudes in backwards hats and khaki cargo shorts – probably cheap beer drinkers. The tips would probably come out alright.

The sound of a silverware scattering across the floor and at least four plates shattering squashed what was left of Steven’s satisfactory mood. Jo was already on his knees picking up the pieces. It was the third time this week he’d dropped a load of dirty dishes, the poor clumsy kid.

“Hey, hey, not with your hands. There’s a broom in back,” he said, shooing him towards the kitchen.

“I’m so sorry. I just kind of tripped a little and then I couldn’t keep the plates steady and I caught the cup but then the silverware went and I jus--.”

“It’s okay. Just go get the broom.”

Steven stacked the unbroken pieces into a manageable pile, rote now after years and years in the restaurant business. Six years was it? Jesus he was getting old.

Jo came back with the broom and a dust pan, still muttering strings of apologies, bright red in the face. Steven was definitely not that jittery when he started. Absolutely not.

“Hey boss?” Ceddy, the host on duty, asked. “There’s a dude here with an application.”

Steven rolled his eyes.

“You want me to tell him to come back tomorrow?”

“No, I’ve got it. Help him with this.” He indicated Jo and the broken plates with a flap of his hand.

The guy at the door was a little shorter than Steven with dark cropped hair and a New York Rangers t-shirt on. Which, ew. “Hi, I’m Steven. Were you looking for a manager?”

“Yeah, hey. I wanted to put in an application for the manager position you’ve got open.”

He eyed the guy, taking his proffered resume with his name in neat bold across the top – _Ryan Callahan_. “I haven’t posted that we’re hiring a manager anywhere yet.”

“You just hired my roommate yesterday, he mentioned you were looking.”

Steven spotted Boyler behind the bar, chatting up a couple frat guys with a bottle of Jägermeister. Excellent up-selling. Bravo. Gold star. “You any good?”

“Oh I’m fantastic. Used to run a bar back in New York.”

“Why’d you stop?” he asked, scanning hastily through the resume.

Ryan palmed the back of his neck, a little of the bravado fading. “The place burnt down a few months ago, electrical fire in the kitchen and all that. Kinda took it as a sign I needed to get the hell out of there.”

“Oh, shit. Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, huffing out a short laugh. “So I’m not completely broke, but I’m pretty broke. Uh, if the manager position isn’t open yet I can serve and bartend, too.”

“No, no, um, we definitely need another manager. We needed another manager like, a month ago.” The guy’s resume was solid, he had a lot of experience just like Boyler. Steven could probably do a lot worse.

“Is that a ‘yes, you’ll consider hiring me’?”

Now was a terrible time for an interview and Steven hated interviews anyway. He always went in more nervous than the applicants. “One request.”

“Name it.”

“That shirt has got to go.”

The resulting smile lit up Ryan’s whole face and kind of caught Steven off guard. “Oh c’mon, we’re playing tonight,” he said.

“So are the Lightning,” Steven shot back, pointing to the nearest TV. “And this is a Lightning establishment”

“Yeah, but we’re better.” He shrugged, as if that was a perfectly legitimate excuse to be wearing the shirt.

“Barely,” Steven conceded. It was a narrow margin but it couldn’t be disputed. Both teams were mediocre at best and definitely wouldn’t be making a deep Cup run this year. At least the Rangers would probably make the playoffs.

Another loud clang and muffled shouts of frustration slipped out into the dining room, jarring them from their conversation.

“That didn’t sound good,” Ryan said, leaning around Steven to try and get a better look.

“Stammer!” That was Pally shouting from the kitchen.

“Yeah definitely not good. I’ll, uh, can you just come in tomorrow? Does tomorrow work?”

“Tomorrow works.”

With that, Steven rushed off to see just what fresh hell was waiting for him in the back.

 

* * *

 

The Lightning lost and one of their fryers had gone out but Killer couldn’t stop talking about how much she loved Boyler (“Jesus, thank you for finally hiring someone who can actually function”) and nobody got shafted on tips. Steven was scanning the numbers, not entirely pleased but they weren’t six months from closing down anymore. They were surviving.

And the Bolts were heading on a road trip, which always helped draw more of a crowd.

He heard the front doors open and click shut. It was still a little early but it was probably just Pally or Johnny (never, ever Kuch, no matter how much he encouraged timeliness) here to get started on prep. Or Heddy to start working on all his fucking pies.

“Hey, boss.”

He was not expecting Ryan to poke his head into the office, bright smile plastered across his face in another ugly ass Rangers t-shirt. “You’re…early.”

“Yeah, you didn’t give me a time so I picked now.”

Now was just a little before nine-thirty on a Saturday, which was perfect. “Right. Great. Um, have a seat.”

Ryan settled into the chair in front of the desk, hands in his lap and knees spread. Steven tried to get his shit together enough to even find the new hire paperwork and a working pen. He felt the back of his neck blush when he turned to look in the file cabinet while Ryan sat patiently, waiting and watching.

“Okay,” he said, paperwork successfully in hand. “Just fill all the stuff out first and I’m going to go find the training manual.” He’s pretty sure it’s behind the bar somewhere. He’s also pretty sure Boyler didn’t read a single word of it.

Heddy strolled in as Steven checked under the counter behind the bottles of butterscotch schnapps no one ever ordered. A massive hickey was bitten fresh into his neck. “Whoa, did you fuck a vampire last night?”

Heddy stopped, bushed his fingers over the mark. “No,” he spat, ears quickly flaming red. He headed straight for the kitchen, hand still pressed against his neck.

Steven laughed to himself, pulling the training binder out from behind the bottles. There were three sticky rings on the cover about the size of shot glasses. Smelled like licorice. Probably Jäger. He was distracted from attempting to wipe them off by the doors swinging open again and Johnny’s voice quickly filling up the restaurant. Pally was next to him, silently nodding and encouraging the conversation. Ben came in close behind with a carrier of coffees.

“Please tell me one of those is for me,” Steven said.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Ben was probably just as tall as Boyler, which was a feat, but built completely different. Where Boyler was all wide in the shoulder and thick with muscle, Ben was thin and wiry with long, dexterous fingers. Fingers that wedged one of the coffees free and handed it over the bar to Steven.

“Bless you,” he sighed, relishing the first sip.

“Uh, Steven?”

Shit, he’d forgotten about Ryan. “Yeah, hey, sorry. Um, guys, this is Ryan. He’s going to be the new manager in training.”

Johnny was the first to bounce over to him, extending his hand. “Tyler,” he introduced. “But Johnny works too.”

“That…doesn’t make sense,” Ryan said, shaking the offered hand.

Johnny laughed. “My last name’s Johnson, so it just kind of happened. I’m not really a _Ty_ kind of Tyler. Uh, this is Pally,” he continued, pointing at the quiet blond. “He doesn’t say much unless he’s angry and Big Ben, head chef and caffeine provider.” He took his coffee from the carrier.

It was a pretty accurate introduction.

“Sorry, I would’ve brought you something,” Ben said with a shrug and a handshake.

“No worries, I’m more of a Red Bull kinda guy.”

“Also P.S.,” Johnny said, turning to face Steven. “Kuch was still asleep when I called him thirty minutes ago. Sooooo, he’s gonna be late.”

Steven sipped his coffee and did his best to ignore the words that just came out of his sous chef’s mouth. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could pretend it was a dream.

“Hey,” Ryan’s voice was a lot closer and a lot quieter than he expected. “I actually had a question. Before I barged in on everybody.”

The rest of the guys had escaped to the kitchen, he could barely hear their muffled conversations. “Everyone barges in on everyone,” he said. “And that wasn’t even proper barging.” He motioned with his hand for Ryan to spit it out.

“Can I finish the direct deposit stuff tomorrow? I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course. It’s really not that serious.” Steven pushed the training manual across the bar, still sticky. “That’s got general information in it about the place and how we run things. You should probably read it and then we’ll get you started on the menu.”

“I should _probably_ read it?”

“Yes.”

“So I could not read it and skip straight to the part where I taste all your food.”

“If you want to be a server, sure, skip the reading.”

Ryan laughed and took the binder off the bar. “You drive a hard ship.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

“ _Welcome to Puck_ ,” he read from the first page. “ _The only restaurant in the Bay Area that caters to your food and hockey needs all under one roof_. You’re really proud of that, aren’t you?”

“People like hockey.”

“Sure, just not really the Lightning.”

“We won the Cup.”

“Ten years ago.”

“Eight.”

Ryan smiled, bright and genuine. “Yeah, you’re definitely really proud of that.”

“It’s part of the identity of the place. We opened that year.”

“And they let you work here?” Ryan asked, jokingly outraged. “What were you, like, twelve?”

“I was fourteen. And fuck you, no, I didn’t work here back then.”

“Just lusted after it from afar.”

“I didn’t expect to actually own it. I mean, the guys before me…they were solid and good at their jobs and I’m not even halfway through my twenties. Everything I know, I learned from them.”

“Why’d they quit? If I’m allowed to ask.”

“They both left for New York, actually. Vinny moved up there be with his, uh, partner when he got…transferred from Dallas and Marty went with him to be closer to his own family without actually moving home. His kids were really excited to be able to see their grandparents more often. Florida’s a long way from Quebec.”

“And here you are, stuck with two Yankee replacements. Funny how that works, eh?”

It is a pretty hearty coincidence. “Don’t make me regret my decision.”

“Yeah, right. I’m going to rock your world,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair, cocky. “You’re gonna wonder how you survived your whole life without me.”

Steven’s face heated and he hoped he wasn’t actually blushing. Because that would be fucking stupid. A roar of delight and ensuing laughter from the kitchen saved him from having to reply.

_“Oh my god! Look at that thing, Heddy! Jesus Christ!”_

_“Shut the fuck up. As if you’ve never walked in here with a mark before.”_

_“Not the point. That thing is beautiful. An actual work of art. Lemme take a pict--.”_

_“No way in hell, get away from me with that.”_

_“C’mon, Killer’s gonna love it. Just let me send her a snapch--.”_

_“I will stab you with this knife.”_

“Whoa, whoa, no one is stabbing anyone with a knife from this restaurant,” Steven shouted, barging through the swinging door.

Johnny had his phone out, trying to get the angle right to take a picture of Heddy’s neck (with some degree of difficulty, given their height difference) while one of Heddy’s long arms was brandishing the knife he had been using to cut some kind of fruit. Strawberries or cherries. Steven’s heart stuttered at the color on the blade. Not that he actually thought he’d stab Johnny…

“Menu meeting’s at ten-thirty. Quit dicking around.”

Johnny lunged toward Heddy while he was distracted, successfully snapping a picture of the bruise. “Ha! Got it.”

Heddy clenched his jaw and slammed the knife onto the counter-top. “Delete it.”

“No!”

“Tyler,” Steven whined.

“We’re all bros here. And you won’t tell me who gave it to you so this is the next best way to annoy you about it.”

“I don’t _want_ to be annoyed about it.” Heddy was definitely the one whining now.

Ben and Pally were biting their lips not to laugh. Steven could see their faces getting red at the exertion alone.

“Just tell me who it was and I’ll delete it,” Johnny proposed.

“No.”

“Why not! Was she ugly? Was she _married_?”

“No! She’s very beautiful. Not Married. Fuck off,” Heddy mumbled.

“Okay, seriously. Give it up,” Steven said. “Chop some fucking vegetables or I’m firing you all.”

“You never let us have any fun,” Johnny said, pocketing his phone.

“That is the biggest lie and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, boss.”

“And where the fuck is Kucherov? Has anyone heard from him yet?”

“Is right here,” the man in question said, wearing dark hangover sunglasses and still smelling of last night’s cologne. “No need for yell. Who let the fucking Rangers shirt in here?”

“His name is Ryan and he’s the new manager,” Steven said.

“His shirt's ugly.”

“At least we’re going to make the playoffs this year!” Ryan shouted from the dining room.

Steven sighed heavily.


	2. Victor

It was well past two in the morning. Victor had been asleep for a good three-and-a-half hours before his doorbell rang – sharp and piercing and completely uncalled for.

And then it rang again.

“Fuck off,” he grunted into his pillow. “Please, please, fuck off.”

They did not fuck off.

Victor slipped into a shirt from his floor and put on his best resting bitchface.

“Seriously, do you know what tim--.” The rest of his words died in his throat at the sight of who had woken him up. “Val?”

“Hey Heddy!” she beamed, tongue slipping slightly over the letters of his nickname.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“Well, I closed at the restaurant,” she said, pushing her way past him and into the house. “But then I wasn’t tired enough to go to sleep so I came downtown to one of the hotel bars.” She wrenched open his fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, as if she knew exactly where they were, like she had spent years in this house instead of just the once when he had first moved in.

“Alone?” he asked, her story clicking into comprehension. He didn’t like the idea of it.

“There was this one guy,” she said, ignoring his concern. “Tall like you, like _so_ tall, and his hair did that thing like yours where it just, you know, kind of lays there. And I couldn’t stop thinking about you sitting there buying me overpriced mixed drinks.”

She giggled, honestly giggled, and Victor’s stomach swooped at the uncharacteristic sound.

“So then I thought, hey, you live around here. And then I found you.”

Her ridiculous sky blue eyes were darker than usual, shaded by her blown pupils and the glassy sheen of being a little buzzed. “Here I am,” she finished.

“I don’t have a guest room.” He could have kicked himself. What a stupid thing to say. But it was all he could think about. He’d have to take the couch, give her his bed…

“I’m still not very tired,” she said, closing the polite gap Victor had left between them.

It was decidedly not polite at all now. She trailed a hand down his arm, shoulder to elbow, and he felt the goosebumps rise quickly on his skin.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You only ever do good things?”

Victor could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, the roaring of his blood, as she pressed further into his space – hips rolling into his thigh. He could smell her hair this close, just a hint of something flowery.

“C’mon Vic,” she whispered into his neck. “I know you want me.”

He did. He did so badly want her. So he pushed his fingers into her long, blonde hair and kissed her.

She wrapped her own hand around his neck, pulling him down to press fully against her, opening her mouth to him. He took and took, walking her to the nearest wall, shoving her right up against it with his hips and chest and lips.

She hummed against his skin, biting his mouth, his jaw, his neck as he ran his hands from her hips to waist to ribs, just below the swell of her breasts.

“Mmm, c’mon, touch me.”

So he did, touching and rubbing and running fingertips up under her soft t-shirt, brushing against the warm skin there.

Her breath was loud against his ear as she licked and nibbled at the shell, fingers working through the sleep-tangled strands of his hair. She bit softly against his neck, barely hard enough to sting, but his hips stuttered forward and her back slapped against the wall. She bit harder the next time, urging him on.

Victor wanted her to ruin him.

Her tongue laved over the mark she was working into his neck, soothing the hiss of her teeth. He kept holding her close, as close as he could.

“Gonna take me to bed?” she said, tugging at his hair.

He knew the proper answer was no. He should put her in bed and then leave. Maybe take a cold shower. The kissing and the biting and the touching was enough, was _more_ than enough.

“Stop thinking about it.” She bit down hard against his shoulder, digging her nails into his scalp. “Just take me.”

Victor jumped to action, wrapping his hand around her wrist and pulling her down the short hall. The bed was messy, unmade from sleeping in it, but he pushed the twisted sheet away and sat down, knees spread wide enough for Val to fit between them.

She lifted her shirt up and off, flinging it aimlessly in the dark. Victor pressed kisses against the pale expanse of her stomach, skin soft against his lips.  

“You just going to kiss me all night?”

“Maybe,” he said, voice rough.

“You could do much better things with that mouth, you know,” she said, smiling.

He bit gently at the skin of her hip, just above the top of her jeans. “That’s what you want?”

She tilted his head up, away from her body, to brush a thumb across his lips. “I really do.”

 

* * *

 

Victor pressed his fingertips into the bruise on his neck all morning, the dull ache of it sending slow shivers down his spine, flashbacks of last night trickling in like thick honey.

“You doing okay?” Stralsy asked, the first of the servers to show up, always early.

“’m fine.”

“You look asleep on your feet. I’m worried you’re going to chop off your fingers. We need your fingers.”

He finished up a pile of berries and scooped them into a bowl. “Stammer could find a new pie maker.”

“You planning to leave?”

“Maybe.”

Stralsy sighed, heavy and audible. “This have anything to do with who gave you that mark on your neck?”

Victor pressed his hand over it on reflex. He shrugged.

“It was someone here, then?”

Stralsy was his friend, his closest friend here in the restaurant. They hadn’t known each other long but they had similar ways of living life. He was quiet and sure of himself and probably wouldn’t blab his mouth to everyone like the other kitchen staff. “Yes,” he finally conceded.

“Well there are only four girls who work here and Killer doesn’t quite swing your way,” he said, dropping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry. “Carley’s too old for you and Val’s still dating that guy from Detroit, no?”

“They broke up.”

Stralsy raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really,” he groaned.

“Why do you look like this, then?”

Victor sighed. “She doesn’t want me. If she wanted me she would have made a move last year. This was just…it was just comfort. For her.”

“Comfort?”

“She came to my house, not… _drunk_ but uh, it just wasn’t…she wouldn’t have. If she hadn’t gone to the bar.”

“She tell you this?”

“Well, she wasn’t there when I woke up so we didn’t really have the chance to talk it over.” The words sounded bitter to his ears. He hated the way he had rolled over and felt the warmth of the sheets only to find she was already gone. An empty water bottle on his counter the only proof she had been there at all.

“Morning, assholes,” Val yelled, bursting into the kitchen in full uniform. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, massive aviators hiding her eyes, and fingertip shaped bruises around her wrist – just barely visible. She gave Johnny a high-five and stole a slice of tomato from the pile he had started.

Victor sucked in a sharp breath, holding it, waiting.

“Take a look at Heddy’s neck,” Johnny said, nodding his way. “It’s a beauty.”

Val slipped over to him, smiling around her pilfered snack. She examined the bruise, poking it with her finger, tilting his chin into the light. “Not bad.”

“Oh fuck you!” Johnny shouted. “You let her get a good look at it but not me? Where is your bro-code, dude.”

“He just likes me better.” She popped the rest of the tomato in her mouth and winked on her way back out to the dining room.

“Yeah, his _dick_ likes you better,” Johnny mumbled.

“Meeting! Now!” Stammer yelled through the door, still flapping from Val’s exit.

The kitchen groaned with a scrape of utensils dropped on stainless steel surfaces and hands wiped on aprons. Victor’s fingers were stained red from the berries.

 

Most of the servers had claimed seats already and Victor took the first one he saw that wasn't next to Val.

"Alright," Stammer said, looking satisfied by everyone's attendance. "Before we get to the food, there's a couple people I need to introduce."

"This is Brian Boyle, our new bartender." He indicated the broad, dark-haired man sitting next to Ben. "And Ryan Callahan, manager in training."

There was quite a bit less of Ryan than Brian, Victor could tell he was shorter even when they were sitting. They both smiled at the introductions. Big, bright, happy smiles.

"Please at least tell them your name after this. Your _real_ name. I don't want another incident like Jo."

Victor quirked a smile remembering the fake names they’d all given the new kid, so wide-eyed and eager to please. It was mean. But it was worth it.

"What, you think I don't look like a Seymour?" Kuch asked with a sleazy smile.

"God, who made you the way you are?" Carley said, pushing her glasses into the bridge of her nose.

"Born this way, baby."

"Boyler's too awesome to fall for that shit anyways," Killer testified.

"Already on nickname basis, yes?"

"Oh yeah,” she crooned. “I'd be all over him if he had bigger tits."

"So, burgers!" Stammer interrupted, slapping his palms on the table.

Kuch closed his mouth in defeat.

"It's almost time to rotate a new one in for the playoffs. Any ideas of what it should be?"

"I was thinking we could do a consolation sandwich," Ben said. " _Buffalo_ chicken, _Lightning_ sauce, _Philly_ cheese..."

"Oh that's good," Johnny laughed. "Low-key bitter. I'm all over that."

"We can't have something called a 'consolation sandwich'," Stammer shot down.

"See! No fun at all anymore," Johnny said. "Captain stick-in-the-mud."

"You could call it the Lottery," Ryan suggested. "Most people probably wouldn't get it anyway."

Kuch lit up. "I like. Two points to Ryan!"

"You think the Philly cheese and Lightning sauce go together?" Stammer asked, eyeing his line of cooks.

"I'll make a tester today," Ben offered.

"Great. Perfect. Okay, um," Stammer scanned his notepad for his next talking point. "Our fryer can't be fixed until middle of next week. So try your best to upsell things that aren't fried to help the kitchen out. Other than that, the Bolts are on the road this week, so hopefully we get a little more traffic. Questions?”

“We have not-fried foods?” Kuch asked, leaned back and balancing on two legs of his chair.

“I’m not answering that. Any _actual_ questions?”

The table stayed quiet.

Stammer capped his pen. “Well, always good to see your lovely faces in one place. Now get the hell out of here."

With that, the table broke and most of those not on the schedule for the morning made a beeline to the door – no doubt to crawl right back into whatever hole they came from. The others quickly surrounded Ryan and Boyler with handshakes and introductions, per Stammer’s orders. Ryan said something to Val and Stralsy that made them all laugh.

Victor headed back to the kitchen. His crusts needed to be prebaked.

“Hey, Heddy,” Stammer said, poking his head in. “I forgot to ask what pies you’ve got for us this week.”

“Mixed berry and a black cherry rum. You can taste the cherry filling, it’s done.”

Stammer came around his station and stuck a spoon in the dark red mixture. “Oh shit, you’ve really outdone yourself, man. Ben, come try this.”

Ben agreed after dirtying a second spoon just to have another, bigger taste. “You’re going to put my consolation sandwich to shame.”

“It’s not a consolation sandwich,” Stammer corrected.

“Whatever it is, I'm going to have to up my game for it. Are you making ice cream for this?” he asked. “It'd be amazing with some of that French vanilla you do. Can we have a playoff pie instead?”

“No.”

“We should definitely have a playoff pie,” Ben stage-whispered to Victor.

Stammer rolled his eyes. “Get back to work.”

Ben seemed pleased with himself once he had run Stammer back out of the kitchen. “Hey, you see that new bartender? He’s like…huge, right?”

“Probably no taller than you,” Victor said.

“Yeah but…he could snap me in half.”

“Yeah, and then I’d snap him right back.”

“Victor Hedman, bodyguard of the kitchen!” Johnny yelled, clearly eavesdropping.

“Someone has to be with all you tiny people around,” he shot back. “Tiny kitchen gremlins.”

To be fair, Pally and Kuch were respectable heights (though a good half-foot shorter than Victor and Ben) but Johnny was even a few inches shorter still. Val was probably taller than him.

“Oh fuck off, I can hold my own.”

“We’ll let the new guy take the first swing,” Ben said, heading back to his station. “See how long ‘your own’ holds.”

Johnny flung a tomato slice at him.


	3. Ben

The consolation sandwich was disgusting.

Ben, Pally, Kuch , Heddy, Johnny, and Ryan stood around the countertop, staring at the offensive tester plate.

“It was such a good idea, too,” Johnny lamented.

The heat of the cheese had managed to curdle the mayonnaise-based Lightning sauce. All of the condiments were now mingling in some gag-worthy mess on top of the tomato Johnny insisted should be included.

“I can’t believe you actually took a bite,” Heddy said, poking at the soggy bun.

Ben shrugged. It wasn’t like he’d swallowed it.

“What if you stuff the chicken with the cheese?” Ryan suggested. “To keep it separate from the sauce.”

“It’s not really the stuffing kind of cheese.” It was loose and runny and a very, very vibrant orange. “I could use different cheese but then it wouldn’t be the same.”

“I think we’ve got to scrap it,” Johnny concluded.

He was probably right.

“What are we looking at?” Stralsy asked, dropping off a tray of empty plates.

“Sad sandwich,” Kuch offered. “Ben did terrible job.”

Stralsy poked his head between Heddy and Pally. “Yeah, that looks disgusting.”

Ben sighed and finally scraped the plate into the trash.

 

* * *

 

That night _Puck_ was on a wait for the first time in a month. Like an actual “Here’s a pager, we’ll call your name when your table’s ready” wait.

“Who the fuck is ordering all this food!” Ben shouted at the little machine pumping out tickets.

Ceddy slid into the kitchen with the answer. “Um, so we’re on like a twenty minute wait. Heads up.”

Ben gave him the finger on his way out. “This is insane.”

“How many burgers?” Kuch asked from the grill.

“Drop…five? Six. Three Brewers, Two Thompsons, a Purcell, and a Malone.” Ben hung the tickets up and started pulling plates.

“That’s seven.”

“Drop seven, then. Plus one nacho, two wings – hot, one panini no mustard. And I’ll need grilled chicken for a salad.”

The kitchen sprang into action.  

“These my wings?” Carley asked, coming in and pointing to a basket that had been sitting there for no less than eight minutes.

“Read the ticket,” Ben snapped. “And don’t bitch to me when the table complains about them.”

She took the basket with a huff.

Pally slid a bowl of tortilla soup and a patty melt into the window. “You said two wings?”

“Make it three. The ones Carley just took’ll come back,” he grumbled.

“Two Brewer and one Kubina.” Kuch slid the burgers onto the plates Ben had already prepped with fries.

Not ten seconds later Jason came in for the patty melt with Carley right behind him.

“Don’t even say it,” Ben snapped at her, snatching the returned basket of wings from the window. “And Kuch, no one ordered a Kubi.”

“Did so. You said.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Did everyone die in here?” Stammer yelled, bursting through the door. “Where is all the food?”

“No one told me we were on a wait until we were already twenty minutes deep!” Ben yelled back, feeling overwhelmed and slightly out of control. “And the fucking tickets just keep piling in!”

Stammer took in all the little papers hanging up in the window and the few that had just spewed out of the machine. “Okay, what do you need? I can call tickets, you go help Kuch.”

Ben exhaled. “Yeah, great. Thanks.”

He washed his hands and stepped into Ben’s place, getting his bearings. “Alright, so we’ve got a Brewer, a Purcell, and a panini…somewhere?”

Pally dropped the panini on the plate next to the burgers. “No mustard. Needs fries.”

“That’s a Kubina, we need to do it over,” Ben said, pointing to Kuch's mistake.

“Then let’s do it over.”

With the extra help, Ben’s pulse slowed back down to a normal human rate, his brain calmed enough to focus on the small things – like burger toppings – until the entire kitchen was no longer covered in tiny pieces of paper.

“You good back here now?” Stammer asked, tossing the last ticket next to the plate it went with.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Ben said, finally wiping the sweat off his forehead. He checked the clock on the microwave and groaned. “Fuck, is that thing right?”

“Reset last week after storm,” Kuch said, scraping down the grill.

They still had three hours until the kitchen closed.

 

* * *

 

Ben practically fell into the dining room when midnight hit. There was a couple still sipping red wine and laughing at the far end of the bar and a table of teenagers up way too late, but otherwise, the place was empty. Beautiful, perfect emptiness.

“You look like you need this,” the new bartender said, filling a shot glass with Patron and sliding it in front of him. “On the house.”

“Stammer doesn’t like it when we don’t pay.” He settled onto a barstool and tipped the shot back regardless.

“On me, then.”

“Well in that case, I’ll have another.”

He refilled the glass with a smile. “Rough night?”

“Long. Long and rough. And I can’t decide if I want to be drunk or asleep.”

The bartender laughed and went back to washing glasses. Ben wished he could remember his name. He was fucking terrible at names.

“Not to sound like an asshole, but, uh, I don’t remember your name,” he confessed. “I’m sorry.”

“Brian,” he said. “Or Boyler. Or ‘hey you’. I’m not picky.”

“’Hey you’ seems a little impersonal.”

“I guess we _are_ coworkers now.”

“I’m Ben.”

“I know.” Brian smiled and went to stack up the clean pint glasses. “Can I get you anything else? Or are you sticking with shots.”

“S’there a Sam Adams back there?”

“There is indeed,” he said, pulling a frosty bottle out of the cooler. He popped the cap with the opener he kept tucked in a sweat band on his forearm. His massive forearm.

“Thanks," Ben said, taking a quick drink.

Kuch was the next one out of the kitchen, hair sticking up like he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times. He headed straight behind the bar.

“Can I help you?” Brian asked, eyebrow raised.

“My vodka back here. I keep for days just like this.” He knelt down to dig around on the _rarely used liquor_ shelf and came up successful. The bottle had a red label that was covered in Russian Cyrillic. It was about three-fourths of the way empty. “Need to get new soon,” he mumbled. “You want?”

Ben shook his head. “Absolutely not. That shit puts me on my ass.”

“What, are you a _lightweight_?” Brian asked with glee, eyes widening.

“No! But that’s…that’s like Russian-grade. I don’t know what they do to it but it’s terrible.”

“He lightweight but never admit. Too proud of American.”

“Fuck off.”

Kuch stuck his tongue out as he pulled down a tumbler and filled it with ice. He poured out at least two shots worth of vodka and took a sip. “Is so good,” he said, smacking his lips. “You try?”

Brian eyed the couple at the end of the bar, leaning closer now, wine glasses nearly empty. “I’m not off the clock yet.”

“Is after midnight. No one care.” Kuch poured a glass for him, not nearly as full as his own.

“Oh good, we’re drinking,” Pally said, joining Ben at the bar still in his apron. “I’ll have a pint of the Pale Ale.”

“Get yourself, I’m only pouring vodka.”

Brian poured a glass of the Ale, letting some of the foam drip down the side. “Should I just start a tab for everybody?”

“Yes,” they grumbled in unison.

Pally took three good gulps of his beer before settling back in his chair. “Sitting is beautiful.”

Ben hummed his agreement. He watched Brian swirl the Russian vodka around in the glass Kuch gave him, taking a tentative sip.

“Jesus, you weren’t joking,” he said, holding the offensive liquor at arm’s length. “That shit burns all the way down.”

“Give me that.” Vladdy, the host on duty, reached over the bar and snatched the glass from him. “Shouldn’t be wasted.”

“You’re not even old enough to be drinking that,” Ben said.

He slammed what was left and held it out for Kuch to refill. “Legal everywhere else.” He sat on the other side of Pally, swooping the hair out of his eyes.

“Technically I didn’t serve him,” Brian said, sure that everyone sitting heard him.

“How about I technically pretend I don’t know any of you,” Stammer said, coming out of his office to pluck the glass from Vladdy’s hand. “You know better, go home.”

“Yes, okay boss.”

Stammer waited until the kid slumped all the way out the door before tipping back a large sip of his vodka. “Well, that was a night.” He hissed as the liquor went down.

Ryan had followed him out and took the seat next to Ben, quickly folding his arms on the bar and dropping his forehead onto them. Brian poured him a beer without question, sticking a little toothpick full of olives in it.

“Pour me one of those, too,” the last of the servers, Jason, said. “I thought those kids would never fucking leave.”

The couple at the end of the bar had left as well, Ben noticed.

“I should’ve just ignored them, probably would’ve gotten the same tip. Why do I let you talk me into closing?”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t make any money tonight,” Stammer said. “Every part of this place made money tonight. I’m actually excited to look at the numbers tomorrow for a change.”

Ben watched Brian clock out and pour himself a heavy Jack and coke, topped with a squeeze of lime. He could practically smell the booze wafting off of it.

“Anyone going to bar?” Kuch asked, tossing his now empty bottle in the trash.

“How do you do that? Go to bars every weekend?” Ben asked, genuinely curious. He felt like he had been hit by a house. Almost _always_ felt like he’d been hit by a house. A bar is the absolute last place he wanted to go.  

“How you not?” he shrugged. “You no have sense of fun. Boring.”

“’m not boring.”

“Little bit boring.”

Ben heard the beginnings of traitorous laughter from his left – Pally and Stammer no doubt. “I do fun things!” he protested.

“Coming up with new menu items doesn’t count, Benny,” Jason said.

“You’re all assholes.”

“Oh c’mon, you never go out. When’s the last time you even got laid?” Stammer asked, staring at the bottom of his empty glass.

Ben flushed, he could feel it all the way to his ears, hot and embarrassing. He made the mistake of looking up and caught Brian’s eye, the dick was smirking around the lip of his glass. It made Ben flush darker. He kind of wanted to drown them in their drinks. “You’re all rude as hell.”

“That long ago, huh?” Ryan said, slapping him on the back.

“As if you’re all such Casanovas,” he snapped.

“I get laid almost every night,” Jason said.

“You’re practically married. You don’t count.”

“Always have girls wanting me,” Kuch said. “Can’t resist.”

“You don’t count either. Pally? Pally, when’s the last time for you?” Ben asked, grasping at straws.

“Tuesday.”

“Tues--, _fuck_ you.”  

“To be fair, I haven’t gotten any since leaving New York,” Ryan offered, popping an olive off his toothpick. “So that’s a good three months.”

That was comforting at least. But it still wasn’t enough.

“Well we know Stammer can’t top that,” Jason said. “Since you totally fucked that stripper we got you for your birthday in February.”

“What can I say? The guy really liked me.” He leaned over the bar to pull up a fresh bottle of vodka.

“What about you?” Kuch asked, nudging Brian’s shoulder.

He laughed. “Oh no, no. I don’t kiss and tell.”

The group jeered him, tossing a few balled up napkins his way.

“C’mon Benny, just spit it out,” Jason said, finished with his beer now.

He exhaled, started to peel the label off his Sam Adams. “Seven months,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Eh? Again for the crowd down here!” Stammer yelled.

“Seven months.”

Kuch whistled, eyes wide. Ryan took a long pull of his beer. Stammer leaned forward across the bar, grabbing his full attention. “Wait, so you’re saying it’s been since you and Jared…”

“Broke up. Yes. Since me and Jared broke up and he moved back to Ottawa. Okay? Okay.”

Brian quietly poured another shot of Patron and set it in front of him, throwing away the empty bottle and label he'd shredded all over the bar.  He tossed it back easy. “Cheers.”

“Breakups aren’t any good,” Pally said. “Takes a long time sometimes.”

It hadn’t been a short thing with Jared is what still really got Ben. They’d moved in together. Gotten a dog together. Picked out a new bed and sheet set and way too many pillows together. It wasn’t a fling. It could have been forever if they’d let it.

"At least you know Jo's got you beat, right?" Jason offered. "There's no way that kid isn't a virgin."

"Hey be nice," Stammer scolded. "He's like eight, he better still be a virgin."

“He’ll grow out of his clumsiness once he hits puberty,” Ryan said. “Maybe he’ll turn out to be a lady killer.”

“Or a man eater,” Jason said.

“Not super helpful to compare my sad sex life to an eighteen year old baby,” Ben said.

"It's not sad," Brian offered. "You're just a serial monogamist, right?"

"Uhg, I don't mean to be." 

“Could always hire stripper,” Kuch supplied. “Easy fix.”

 “What did I do to deserve friends like you?” Ben joked. “Seriously. I’d take it all back in a heartbeat.”

“Oh please,” Stammer said. “You'd be lost without us.”

"I will never, ever admit that." But they all knew it was true. 


	4. Valarie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is drinking. And there is aggressive male attention given to a lady who is drunk and does not want it. Everything's fine. Nothing goes downhill. But just a heads up. 
> 
> And there's a racial slur because some assholes are real assholes.

_Be glad ur not here. Fucking wait AND assholes everywhere._

Val smiled at the text from Jason. He’d sent it an hour ago, probably right in the middle of the rush. It obviously wasn’t _that_ busy if he had time to complain about it.

_dont kill any1. Not worth it._

Alex already had music on in the bathroom when Val got home, some high-octane electronica that would grate on everyone’s ears after a while.

_No jury would convict if i did_

She smiled at his reply, kicking off her neon tennis shoes and stripping out of her sweaty tank. The kitchen smelled like tomato sauce and she prayed there was still some left to pilfer. “Nikki? You home?”

“Yeah, and you can have the rest of that,” Nikki said from pull-out couch in the living room that doubled as her bedroom. Her school books were spread all over the table. “We’re done.”

“Oh thank god.” Val ladled the rest of the food into a bowl and dug in. “Did you do something to this?”

“If you mean herbs and cheese, yes. I did something to it.”

“I’m so glad you moved in.”

Nikki laughed, bringing her empty bowl into the kitchen. “You only like me for my pasta skills?”

“And your rent money. I really like you for that.”

The music in the bathroom changed to something with less bass and Alex started singing along, her voice more than loud enough to be heard through the paper-thin walls. It was terrible.  

“Did we pick a place yet?”

Nikki shrugged. “I think we’re still waiting to hear from Kuch. He’s closing tonight.”

“Anyone else coming?” she asked, mouth half-full of food.

“I don’t think so. I thought maybe Ceddy but I haven’t heard from him.”

Val felt something in her chest relax. “Great. Dibs on next shower.”

“As if I’d make you sit in your filth any longer than necessary. You know gyms have showers, right?”

Val dumped her bowl into the sink without washing it and headed for the bathroom. “Hurry the fuck up in there, you can blow dry your hair in your room.”

“Fuck you, you know my room doesn’t have a mirror,” Alex yelled back.

“You don’t need a mirror to blow dry your hair.”

Alex ripped open the door. She had half of her makeup done and her hair still tightly coiled in a towel. “Literally five minutes and I’ll be done. Go away.”

“Quit singing. It’s terrible.”

“ _You’re_ terrible,” she said, slamming the door in Val’s face.

It made her smile as she continued down the hall to her room. She kicked the clothes scattered all over the place into a pile so she could lay down on the floor. Her sweaty back immediately stuck to the scuffed up wood but the chill felt nice on her neck and wrists.  

She had spent too long at the gym tonight, trying to work out all of the thoughts that kept running through her mind. She had lifted too heavy and sprinted too hard and definitely not stretched enough afterwards. Her muscles were already settling into soreness – the good kind of ache, the one that came with endorphins.

But it didn’t quite do its job.

It didn’t quit erase the hotel bar or the guy with the long hair and slight accent she couldn’t place. She could still see him and the slightly buzzed thought process that led her to Victor’s door at god knows what hour. It was unfortunate that even after PRing her front squat, she still remembered what it had felt like to be kissed by him, to drag her hands all over his skin, bite a mark into his neck like he was _hers_.

“Get up pigpen,” Alex said, walking by the bedroom in nothing but the towel on her head. “Showers yours.”

“Did you turn the fan on?”

“I’m not a heathen.”

“That’s debatable.” Val heaved herself off the floor, feeling every stretch of muscle in her shoulders and legs.

“We’re going to Czar,” Alex said. “Kuch gets off at twelve. We’re meeting him there.”

Val groaned. “The only thing that makes that place tolerable is the free drinks.”

“…Yup.”

“Why do we keep letting Kuch drag us there?”

“Because he knows everyone and we get trashed for free.”

“I kind of wanted to pick up tonight,” she whined, untangling her hair from its disastrous bun.

Alex side-eyed her. “I thought you picked up last night.”

“As if there’s a sex limit. You boned a new chick every night for like, a month after you graduated.”

“Excusable. You would go on a bender too if you’d just graduated from Harvard.”

“I could’ve already been out of the shower by now,” Nikki interrupted from the end of the hall. “Are you getting in or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” Val rummaged in her closet and came back with two little black dresses. “Which one?”

“Right,” both girls said, pointing to the sparkly halter that hugged her hips like a glove.

“Excellent choice.” She threw the other one onto her bed where it crumpled in a heap to wrinkle.

 

* * *

 

“Cab’ll be here in twenty,” Alex announced to the house.

Val had squeezed herself into her dress and was now testing shoe and jewelry combinations. “Are we breaking into that bottle of Grey Goose or what?” she yelled back. The wedges weren’t going to work.

“Oh damn, you really do want to pick up.” Alex had the bottle of vodka in question and Nikki in tow.

“You two chose the dress.” She put in a pair of long silver earrings that almost grazed the top of her shoulders.

“And why are we trying so hard? You could get laid with much less effort, y’know.” Alex worked the cork out of the bottle and took a long sip.

Val grabbed the vodka once she was done. “Maybe I just want to be sure.”

“Or…”

Val took a swallow before passing it off to Nikki. “Or maybe I’d like to forget last night with someone much hotter and more impressive.”

“Was it that bad?” Nikki asked, passing the bottle.

“No! God no, it was great. Fantastic. I just…I need to neutralize it.”

“Aw, are you having a _feeling_?” Alex teased. “Like an actual human emotion?”

Val knew, objectively, that if she told anyone about Victor it would be the two girls standing in the hallway with her drinking classy vodka straight from the bottle.  But, objectively or not, telling anyone would burst the little bubble she had been living in since waking up this morning.  Victor wasn’t a gossip. He wasn’t going to kiss and tell. If she never told anyone, it would be their little secret, something private to hold on to. Something to remember.

And consequently feel guilty about. “Yes, I might be having a _single_ emotion.”

“Let’s hear it then,” Nikki said, taking the bottle from Alex and skipping Val’s turn.

“Guilt.”

“Elaborate,” Alex ordered.

“I, uh…um…” Here it goes. “IgaveHeddythegianthickey.”

Her roommates blinked at her, their brains no doubt processing the rapid-fire information that just vomited from her mouth. She wanted to reach for the vodka, take a nice long sip, but any sudden movement might break the silence.

“Say that again?” Alex said.

“No.”

“Did…we did hear that correctly, though, yes?” Nikki was still holding the Grey Goose. 

“Um, probably.”

“You had sex…with Victor. The same Victor that works in the kitchen and makes pies and is tall and adorable and has had a _massive crush on you for years_. That Victor?”

“That’s the one.”

“Oh, Val…”

“No, no. Don’t…don’t do the voice where you’re all sad for me and want to snuggle and make me feel better,” she scolded Alex. “I’ll just find some hot Russian tonight and forget about it.”

“Wait,” Nikki said, letting Val tug the bottle from her fingers. “Why are you sad? You said it was fantastic.”

Alex sighed. “Because she’s made up her mind that she doesn’t deserve someone like Victor. And therefore won’t let herself have him.”

“But he _wants_ you!”

“I’ve been arguing with her for years. It’s no use.”

Val opened her mouth to defend herself when the cab honked its arrival. “Fuck.” She still hadn’t picked which shoes she was going to wear and all her shit was still in her gym bag. “Has anyone seen my black clutch?”

“Hanging by the door!” Nikki yelled.

Val slipped into the first pair of black heels she came across and rushed down the hall to find her wallet and cell phone. Alex was close behind, towering over everyone in her _sex stilettos_.

“Jesus how do you walk in those?” Nikki asked, wrenching the bottle from Val’s grabby hands.

“C’mon, c’mon.” Alex ushered them all out of the house and into the cab. “We’ve all got IDs right?”

Val and Nikki lifted theirs up in show.

“Great.”

 

* * *

 

Czar was surprisingly full when they arrived. Alex had gotten a text from Kuch letting them know he had a table in the back and a bottle of his favorite vodka. Upon closer inspection, he also had a petite blonde already hanging on his every word.

“You’ve been here, what, fifteen minutes?” Alex said, raising her eyebrow at the girl.

“Everybody love me here,” he replied. “This is Anna. She very nice.”

“I’m sure. I have to pee, I’ll be right back,” Alex said, heading off into the crowd.

Val slipped into the booth, finally feeling the soft buzz of the vodka they’d had at the house. She wasted no time in pouring herself another shot. “Anyone else?”

Nikki claimed a glass of her own and scooted it towards Val to fill. Kuch was too busy kissing the skin behind Anna’s ear for either of them to care.

“To vodka!” Val cheered, tipping the shot back quickly. “Oh fuck, I forgot that’s terrible.”

Nikki seemed to take it alright. “It pays to be Russian,” she said and shrugged. “Lots of people here tonight.”

“It’s weird.”

“They’re not bad looking, generally.”

She was right. A lot of the guys were tall and built and not inherently creepy looking. She watched a cluster of college bros over by the bar chug their beers like assholes and a couple of hipsters with their man-buns and tight jeans – hot but breakable – do shots of fireball. The shorter one spilled a little on his chin and she wanted to lick it up.

Buzzed. She was definitely buzzed.

Alex broke her gaze with a trio of something that looked sweet. “Lemon drops to cleanse the Russian vodka from your palate before we dance. Since he’s obviously not going to be any fun.”

Kuch and Anna were joined at the lips now. He looked to be doing a fairly adequate job, not too much tongue, not sloppy. Anna seemed happy with it if the way she was trying to crawl into his lap was any indication.

“Val, c’mon.”

She snapped back to attention and took the sweet, sugary shot before following Alex towards the dancefloor.

It was sweltering in the dense pack of bodies rocking and grinding to the bass. Val started sweating immediately; she was so happy she made the decision to slick her hair back into a ponytail. The alcohol hit her faster when she was hot and she felt the giddy warmth of a buzz tilt towards drunk.

A pair of hands gripped her from behind, rude and rough. She tried to follow their lead but they had no rhythm. It was like dancing with a…a something not rhythmical. It wasn’t what she wanted. So she wrapped herself around Nikki, nuzzled into her neck with a giggle, and they weaved their way deeper into the pack, away from the hands.

Nikki caught a suitor next, tall and gangly with little wire glasses. He was cute, in like, a comic book store way. Val thought she probably liked that kind of thing but stuck close by, just in case. They had lost Alex but that happened a lot. She always came back. Usually with drinks.

“Hey beautiful,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, pinning her to him.

She tilted her head back to see him and got a face full of beard and mustache. Scruffy, unkempt beard that crawled down his neck. His breath was hot against her cheek, grossly hot, hotter than her own skin. It smelled like beer. No.

Nikki and Little Wire Glasses were kissing now, still rocking a little to the beat. His hands were politely pressed into her lower back. A+. So Val dealt with Beer Breath herself, unclenching his arms from her waist.

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” she said, pulling away. “But thanks.”

“Where is he? I don’t see any boyfriend.”

She smiled. “At the bar, getting us drinks. He’ll be back any minute.”

“Not smart to let you run around alone.”

“Well he doesn’t usually expect assholes like you to disregard my declination.” Whew. She was impressed by her vocabulary. Hot damn.

“What did you call me?”

“An asshole,” she yelled, just to be sure he heard her.   

“Fucking bitch,” he slurred, reaching out one of his big han--.

“This guy give you problem?” Kuch said, swooping in to intercept whatever the guy’s hand was going for. “Where Killer?”

Val wobbled into his sturdy frame. “I was gonna get some water.”

“You her boyfriend?” Beer Breath said, shoving Kuch a little. “A fuckin’ Commie?”

She watched the fire burn in Kuch's eyes, the way his pupils dilated a little before he got everything under control. It took a lot to get him riled up. Beer Breath was lucky they were somewhere he didn’t feel like getting kicked out of.

“Nikki okay?” he asked instead, ignoring the asshole.

Val nodded and let him lead the way through the sweaty crowd towards the bar. Away from the dancefloor, the temperature dropped and cooled the sheen of sweat that clung to her skin. It felt good to breathe.

“He do anything?”

“Huh?” She asked, blinking slowly at him.

“That asshole, he do something to you?”

“Oh no. No. Thank you though. Like a lot. Where did you even come from?”

He smoothed the hair at her temple, a terribly sweet gesture. “I come to find Killer, tell her I’m go. Take Anna home. But I see you first.”

“I dunno where Alex is.”

“Is okay. We sit and wait.”

Val laughed. “No, I’m not…I’m good. I just need some water.”

Kuch didn’t look convinced. “Go sit. I bring.”

“She probably found the only other gay lady in this place, y’know? She’s got like…a magnet for ‘em. I wanna make out with somebody.” She searched the area, scanning guys closest to them. There was one, not too tall with a beard in much better shape than Beer Breath’s. Neatly trimmed. Cared for. It was a beard she could get to know. “Like him. He looks nice, right?”

“He does. But get water first, yes?”

That was logical enough. “And then I can make out with him.”

“Yes. Sure.”

Kuch steered her towards the bar and put an ice cold glass into her hands. “Oh my god, that’s good,” she said around the straw, humming. “Oh! Where’s Anna? Go get her!”

“She wait for me but I not leave you alone.”

“Psh, I’m fine,” she said, smiling. “I’ll find Alex or that nice bearded man to take me home. You know I’m good.”

He hesitated before giving in. “You call if need me.”

“Always,” she said, planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best.”

“I’m know. If you find Killer, make text me.”

“I will do my best. Go get laid.” She shoved him a little and turned back toward the bar, holding her empty water glass out to be refiled.

She also ordered a Lemon Drop. Because it wasn’t like she had _lost_ her buzz, but it was better to be safe than sober.

“Really?”

She looked to see who the judgmental voice belonged to and smiled. “Really, really.”

Neatly-trimmed Beard smiled back. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Lemon Drop.”

“Only sometimes,” she replied. “When I’m feeling sweet.”

Beyond the beard, he had lovely eyes and the kind of hair she just wanted to run her fingers through. “I like sweet.”

“I like to be liked.” Smooth, Val. So smooth. Smooth like ice.

“I’m Henrik.”

“Well that’s rather Swedish of you.”

He laughed. He had a nice laugh. “And how would you know?”

“Lucky guess. All the good Henrik’s are from Sweden. Henrik Sedin, Henrik Lundqvist…”

“Zetterberg?”

“Hmm?”

“That’s me. Henrik Zetterberg. Very Swedish. And I did play hockey at one point in my life.”

“Do you go by Hank?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She tried to hide her giggle with a smile. “I’m Val.”

“Very nice to meet you, Val.”

She finished her water refill and set the glass on the bar. “Can I interest you in a dance?”

“You could probably interest me in a lot of things.”

“How lucky for me.” 


	5. Vladislav

Sunday morning shifts were the worst. No one came to a fucking sports bar for brunch unless it was football season. Steven had been talking about working up a breakfast menu to try and draw more of a crowd but, no, Vlad was still standing at the host stand, bored out of his goddamn mind. There were plenty of other things he could be doing. Like sleeping or laying out in the sun on the beach. Or sleeping _on_ the beach.

“I’m back!” a familiar voice sang, slipping in the front door.

Vlad smiled and bounded over to Vasy – tall and gangly and with worse hair than the last time he’d seen the kid. He was the last of the little quad of Russians at _Puck_ and had spent the better part of the past three months back in the homeland.

So Vlad was shocked when he lifted his left hand, beaming smile, and announced “I got married!”

 “What?!” a chorus of equally shocked voices shouted from the dining room.

“ _Is this a joke?”_

“ _No! I met her on the plane and we fell in love so fast_.”

“ _Didn’t you tell me at Christmas that you were never going to get married_?” Vlad asked, pulling his friend’s hand closer to inspect the gold band.

“ _It was like the movies, like when you see a girl and everything about her just glows? She’s perfect_.”

“In English assholes,” Ceddy said, tugging Vasy’s hand out of Vlad’s grip. “I need the whole story immediately.”

Vlad was so tired he hadn’t realized they were speaking Russian. “Vasy got married to a girl he met on the airplane. It was a whirlwind romance, just like in the movies.”

“That’s hilarious. What happened to never getting married, eh? Way to stick to your morals, dude.”

“Things change,” Vasy said, snatching his hand back to himself. “Stammer here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back crying over his Excel spreadsheets.”

The little cluster of employees rolling silverware held its collective breath as Vasy headed for the office next to the kitchen, waiting until the door clicked shut to swarm the host stand. Nikki was first in line.

“Married? Are you _kidding_ me? He’s just a baby!”

“The kid’s nuts. No way it lasts,” Ceddy said.

“Did the ring look real?” Jo prodded. “I mean, he could totally be joking, right?”

Vlad shrugged. “Looked nice. Shiny.”

“You don’t think he got her pregnant do you?” Nikki asked, voice low and hushed.

Ceddy gagged. “Oh gross. I don’t want to think about Vasy as a sexual being.”

“But I mean, it could’ve happened right?” she insisted.

“I guess.”

She raised her perfectly manicured eyebrows at Vlad, who shrugged again. “I’m not asking him about his sex life.”

Nikki socked him in the shoulder.

“We could start another pool for how long it’ll last,” Ceddy suggested.

“Oh hey, speaking of pools,” Nikki said, quirking a smile. “Pay up.”

“No way!” Jo shouted.

“Shut up!” she snapped. “No one’s supposed to know.”

“Then why do _you_ know,” he whispered.

“Because I live with her. Give me my money.”

“ _Val_ gave Heddy that hickey?” Ceddy said. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Yes way.” She made grabby hands and the boys started to pull out cash, grumbling. “And if any of you tell her I bet on this I will not hesitate to give up a secret of yours to the kitchen. _The_ _kitchen_. Right after I cut off your thumbs.”

Vlad was the last to fork over his lost bet money.

“On the flip side, I’m in for ten that he knocked her up,” Nikki said.

“Vasy is not going to be a father,” Vlad insisted.

“Put your money where your mouth is.”

“Fine. Ten bucks that he’s actually telling the truth.”

“Aw, what a cute little romantic you are.”

Vlad swatted away her attempts at pinching his cheeks like a child. “Go away. Why are you even here?”

“Training behind the bar today with Boyler.”

“Uhg, what? That’s not fair!” Ceddy complained.

“Stammer must like me better.”

Ceddy slumped back to the table where they had been rolling silverware. “Fucking bullshit,” he muttered. “He hasn’t even worked here a week! And he’s _training_ you?”

“He’s been a bartender for like, his entire life.”

“He hasn’t been a bartender _here_. He’s from New York! They’re weird in New York.”

“Killer likes him. Quit being bitter.”

They all wanted to work behind the bar. Or serve tables. Or really anything but stand around greeting people and bussing tables. Stammer had told Vlad he liked his work ethic and would be happy to cross-train him on some other jobs when the space opened up. It was apparently a hard lineup to crack.

“Stammer could’ve just trained both of us instead of hiring him.” Ceddy was still looking quite salty.

Vlad ignored them all and went back to imagining he was laying on the beach.

 

* * *

 

“Vladdy. Vlad. VLAD!”

Vlad startled awake, head jerking up off the palm he had been resting it on.

“Seriously? Were you _napping_?” Stammer shouted.

“’m tired.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I’m not paying you to sleep at my host stand.”

Shit. “I was just resting my eyes. Would’ve been fine if someone came in.”

Stammer pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “I’m going to try this again. Were you napping at my host stand while getting paid?”

“No. No I was not.”

“Right answer. Don’t fucking do it again.”

The peanut gallery was trying and failing to hide their half-giggles. “Fuck all you guys,” he hissed once Stammer was out of earshot. “I thought we were in this together.”

“But you looked so peaceful,” Ceddy said.

“See if I cover your ass next time.”

“Oh c’mon. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

“What have you even been doing? I mean,” Nikki said. “I got drunk _and_ laid last night but here I am – fully capable right now.”

If Vlad was being honest, it was probably school. Mixed with his complete inability to stay on top of things other than video games. Procrastination was slowly killing him. “Leave me alone.”

A group of college aged girls walked past them, heading for the door.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” Vlad said with the fake smile that was required of his position.

They mostly ignored him, letting in the bright Florida sun for as long as it took the door to shut behind them. He wanted to be out there.

“Cheer up, Vladdy. It’s an off-day tomorrow, right?” Jo offered, always the optimist.

If by off-day he meant an all day Adderall-fueled study fest, then yes, tomorrow was an off-day. It was going to be fucking terrible. Why was it so goddamn hard to get a sports management degree? Just…like sports and don’t be an asshole. That’s all that should matter. He will absolutely never have to write another paper or take another test in real life. It amazing that Killer graduated from Harvard without throwing herself off a fucking bridge. 

“Hi, um, I was wondering if…is Andrej working?” a petite woman with soft blonde hair asked. There was an accent on her words that Vlad could almost place, something vaguely familiar.  

“Uhh, which one,” he asked.

“What?”

“How’s it spelled?” he rephrased, thinking that was the best way to start.

“What do you mean?”

“We have three of them here and they all spell it different. So is it O and a J, A and a J, or A and an I?”

The woman giggled. She had a really nice smile. “You can spell Andrej with an O?”

“Apparently, yes. You can.”

“Well, I’m looking for the one with an A and a J.”

That’d be Shu. “Okay, yeah, he’s working.”

“Could we sit in his section, please?” She indicated the two other women she came in with, all blonde, all with very nice smiles.

“Yes, of course. Hang on a second.”

“Thank you.”

She and her friends took a seat on one of the benches near the door and Vlad rushed off to find Shu. “Dude,” he said, stopping him from entering the kitchen. “Dude, why didn’t you tell us you had a girl?”

“Because I…don’t?”

“Oh c’mon. She’s here, man. Wants to sit in your section. Short with a nice smile? Light hair, way too good for you and your bug face?”

“Rude,” he said, nose scrunching up like he smelled something off.

“Well. Heads up. Your not-girl or whatever is here.”

“Did Ceddy put you up to this?

“ _No._ There is an actual girl who wants to sit in your section.”

Shu rolled his eyes and pushed open the kitchen door. “Fine.”

Vlad rushed back to the front and counted out three menus. “Right this way, ladies.” He sat them at a central table, one with a good view of the host stand. “Andrej will be right with you.”

“Hey, watch,” he said, poking Jo in the side. Ceddy perked up from refilling salt shakers.

“What are we watching?”

Shu came back from the kitchen with plates for one of his other tables. They watched him catch sight of his not-girl and smile, big and wide. He almost couldn’t put the food down fast enough to rush over to her and wrap her in a tight hug.

“Totally his girl,” Ceddy said.

“I dunno, it’s kinda…flat,” Jo argued. “The hug, I mean.”

Shu and the woman greeted each other in Czech, which was, in a basic sense, just similar enough for Vlad to eavesdrop on. “Aw, man. She’s his _cousin_.”

“Could still be his girl,” Ceddy said, smirking.

“I’m done with you.” Vlad pushed him back over to his salt shakers. “Damn it. That was my excitement for the day.”

“You could try to break your record for how many times you can make Jo blush.”

“Hey, no. Don’t do that,” Jo said, starting to top up the pepper shakers he had gathered.

“So I shouldn’t talk about what Stammer’s dick looks like?”

Jo blushed. “You don’t _know_ what his dick looks like.”

“That’s one!” Ceddy cheered.

“I bet it’s nice.”

“You don’t even _like dick_ , shut up!”

“Two.”

“Or does that still count as the first?” Vlad said. “I don’t think it had time to go away.”

Jo focused very intently on screwing the cap back on the shaker he was working with.

“Oh, c’mon kid, don’t clam up on us,” Ceddy said, actual sincerity in his voice. “If we didn’t like you, we wouldn’t rag on you all the time.”

“’m not a kid.”

“You’re the youngest one here. Thus, kid.”

“I’m the same age as Vasy.”

“He’s gone off and gotten himself married,” Vlad said. “Automatic not-kid.”

“Oh god, could you imagine Jo getting married?” Ceddy said.

“No,” the other two replied in sync.

“We still talking marriage?” Nikki butted in, coming over to sit at the table covered in side work.

“New guy already kick you out?” Ceddy snaped.

“He’s busy taste-testing Bishie’s playoff burger attempts.”

“I thought Heddy and the boys did that sort of stuff?” Vlad asked.

“After his epic-fail with the consolation sandwich, I think they’re all a little scared. Boyler’s the only one who’d do it.” She smiled, turning to watch the bar. “I think it’s kind of cute.”

Boyler took a big bite of the sandwich Ben had placed in front of him. He had a hopeful look on his face as the bartender chewed and chewed and finally swallowed. They couldn’t hear anything but seeing as he didn’t spit it out, whatever he had made was already more of a success than the first go around.

“They’d look good together, right?” Nikki said, still staring at the two men, leaned over the plate and a notepad where Ben was scribbling something.

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is?” Vlad said, smirking.

“I’ll double-down. Boyler bones Bishie, for sure. And the other new guy manages his way right into Stammer’s pants.”

“You think they’re both gay?” Ceddy said, eyeing up Boyler.

“I assume everyone’s at least a little gay unless proven otherwise,” she said. “And Stammer’s overdue.”

Jo blushed.

“Three!” Vlad and Ceddy lifted their hands in victory.


	6. Steven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently Filppula has such a baby face I thought he was way younger than he was, so for these here purposes of fiction, he's been magically de-aged. 
> 
> Which is totally acceptable because he's a girl anyway. So, yeah.

Steven’s right eye was twitching.

It had been twitching all day, which hadn’t happened since he took over the place at the beginning of the season. His eyes had stayed relatively twitch-free, all things considered.

But now here he was, sitting at his desk on a Monday morning, counting the number of tiny twitches instead of putting in a food truck order for the next week. He really hoped it didn’t turn into a headache. He was an absolute infant about headaches.

“Hey boss,” Ryan said, bursting into the office. “Got anything for me?”

Steven groaned. “Do you know how to place a truck order?”

“For sure, yeah.”

He had sort of been joking. But Ryan looked so fucking earnest and willing, like he was just happy to help with whatever was thrown at him. “You’re supposed to say ‘shut up and do it yourself’.”

Ryan stepped fully into the office, letting the door click shut behind him. “You’ve been doing it yourself for a really long time,” he said. “You hired me to help you so.” He shrugged. “Let me help.”

It wasn’t that everyone else at _Puck_ was a terrible worker, certainly they had their days, but the way Ryan was so focused, so ready every time he came in to work – it was different. “Okay,” Steven said. “I’ve got the inventory all done, so you just have to plug everything into the computer.”

“Easy,” he replied, big smile spread across his face.

He should probably stop with the smiling, too. It’s distracting. “Right, then I’m just gonna,” Steven said, vacating his chair and making a flailing motion towards the restaurant as a whole. “Go see what the kitchen is doing.”

“You should taste the thing Bish made,” Ryan said, taking his place. “It’s awesome.”

“Yeah?”

“Might not be any left.”

Steven knew how quickly free food went in this place. As if they didn’t eat constantly. As if any of them were going hungry.

~

Heddy, to no one’s surprise, was the only person doing any kind of work, while also casually side-eyeing the group huddled around Ben’s usual station.

“We do open in an hour,” Steven said. “If anyone cares.”

The group sprung apart, scattering back to their proper places. “Did Cally tell you about the burger?” Johnny asked, picking up where he left off with a half-peeled potato.

“Cally?” Steven asked, dumbly.

“Ryan.”

“Oh.” Duh.

“He’s manager. Needed a nickname,” Kuch added.

“Sure, whatever,” Steven agreed. “And yes, he did tell me about the burger. Is there any left?”

“Saved half just for you,” Ben said, pushing the small plate forward.

“I’m touched. What is it?”

“Just eat it,” Johnny said.

Steven took a bite, doing his best to get all the layers and sauces in his mouth at once. It was a thousand times better than the consolation sandwich. “Oh my god, what is this?”

“Poutine burger,” Ben said, proud and smiling. “I made the gravy myself.”

“So those are fries?” he asked, mouth still pretty full. He lifted the bun and poked at the golden potato slices.

“Mhmm, and I fried little cheese balls instead of curds, for obvious reasons.”

“What are we gonna call it?”

“The Guy Boucher.”

“Hell yes,” Steven cheered. “That’s perfect. I love you.”

“It was Brian’s favorite, too,” Ben said.

“Oh, it was _Brian’s favorite_ ,” Johnny sang, voice a high-pitched falsetto. “Then it must be _perfect_.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.”

Johnny caught the towel Ben threw at his face.

Steven raised his eyebrows, mouth full of another bite of burger. “Are you two…”

“No!”

“He just tasted all of his failed burger attempts and stayed late to walk him to his car last night,” Jonny said, batting his eyelashes like an asshole.

“Won’t tell us if kiss, though,” Kuch added, elbow deep in ground beef.

“There was no kissing!” Ben shouted.

“Who’s kissing?” Ryan asked, coming into the kitchen.

“No one!”

“Yeah. If you yell it, it's definitely more convincing.”

Ben threw his hands up in outrage. 

“Stammer liked the burger,” Johnny informed. “Name and all.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t have a burger for the coach,” Ryan said.

“Wait, who named it?” Steven asked.

Ryan raised his hand. “Only French Canadian I could think of on the team.”

“Didn’t even name Ranger first,” Kuch teased. “So impressed.”

“I’m a quick study.”

“Is a _conversion_ happening? Right in front of my eyes?” Steven was positively gleeful at the thought.

“No,” Ryan shot down. “But keep trying. I’ve got room for a second favorite.”

Steven realized then that he wasn’t wearing a Rangers shirt today and something warm bubbled up into his chest. Progress.

“I did actually have a question,” he continued. “About the order.”

“Oh, right,” Steven said. “Sure. Um, do I need to order anything special for that?” He pointed to the few bites of burger still left on the plate. “I know the playoffs aren’t for a couple more weeks but we can roll it out early.”

“I mean, if we could get cheese curds,” Ben said. “That’d be more authentic.”

Steven rolled his eyes. “If they’re too expensive, you’ll just have to suffer through cheddar nuggets. Or whatever the hell you’re calling those things.”

“Deal.”

Following Ryan out of the kitchen, Steven noticed Heddy still quietly chopping up fruit and measuring sugary-looking liquid. “You alright, buddy?” Steven asked, pausing.

He shrugged. “I’m fine.”

The bruise on his neck had fully faded by now. Steven wondered if that had something to do with the way his entire body looked sad.

 

* * *

 

The Lightning were playing the Bruins tonight. _The goddamn Bruins_ , Steven thought as he scrolled through a game preview on his phone. It was going to be a shit show. Like, so shitty he almost didn’t want to watch. But unfortunately he runs a Lightning-centered sports bar and pretty much has to. It’ll be on every television in the place. (Because despite Ryan being the manager on the clock tonight, he’ll still be there. Just in case. Because he’s a massive control freak).

They’d be busy around game time. Full of fans who remembered the way the Eastern Conference Finals felt last year, foolishly hopeful that the Bolts would exact some kind of revenge. They were on a three-game win streak, rare as they were, but Steven had no hope that it would continue to four.

“Fuck the Bruins,” he grumbled.

“That’s the spirit,” Val said, walking by on her way to the kitchen. “Also, the March Babies b-day celebration is set for Thursday.”

“The _what_?”

“Jo, Pally, and Nikki all have the same birthday,” she clarified. “How did you not know this?”

Steven put his phone away after pulling up an article about the Lightning’s goaltending woes. “Is it happening here?”

“Well, Jo’s not old enough to go out. So we’re starting here, getting him ridiculously plastered, and then sending him home with Vasy before we go downtown.”

“That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“It’s a great plan. Great _and_ responsible.”

“Except for the part where you plan to get a minor wasted in my bar.”

Val rolled her eyes. “We’ve all heard the stories from your 20th birthday, don’t even pretend you care, old man.”

“You can’t call me that. Technically you’re a year older.”

“I don’t know where you heard that. It’s absolutely not true,” she said with a smile. “Besides, I’ve decided not to celebrate my birthday this year and get all of the children drunk instead.”

“We’re getting children drunk?” Jason asked, butting into their conversation. No one had any tables and they were all buzzing around doing nothing. Being nosey.

“Thursday,” Val agreed. “The March Babies are another year older.”

“Pally’s not even that young,” Steven countered. “I don’t think he counts as a child.”

“He looks like a sixteen year old. Have you ever seen him try to grow a beard?” Jason said, scratching along his own neatly-trimmed monstrosity.

“Vinny’s like, over thirty and still can’t grow a beard to save his life,” Steven said. “Some people are just not born beard growers.”

Boyler laughed, just getting in for his shift. “Says the guy without a beard.”

“You’re too new to take their side,” Steven whined.

Val leaned over the bar to grab his attention. “Birthday party for Jo, Pally, and Nikki on Thursday. You should come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll all meet here after work and head out to a couple bars downtown. You can bring a lady-friend as long as she’s not a giant bitch.”

“I have no lady-friends to speak of,” he said. “So no worries. Is Ben going?”

“Oh, for sure,” she spit out quickly. “The whole kitchen will go just to watch Kuch feed Pally shots all night.”

“Well I don’t want to miss that.”

Val tapped her fist against Steven’s thigh under the bar and left with a wink, heading for the kitchen to, no doubt, make sure Ben would actually be there.

“You have a table, bro,” Ceddy said, hip-checking Jason on his way back to the host stand.

Steven should probably get back to work, too.

 

* * *

 

In a wild turn of events, the Lightning absolutely dominated the Bruins that night. Which made the rest of the week insurmountably better. The bar had stayed open well past the kitchen closing, fans in various shades of Lightning gear drinking to the six goals the Bolts scored.

Steven had joined in at the end, letting Boyler pour him shots of clear liquor. He had topped the night off with something electric blue that was bought for him out of team solidarity. He vaguely remembered someone helping him into a cab. He didn’t think he’d gotten that drunk.

The dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth would beg to differ.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, happily plugged in and fully charged. Definitely not that drunk.

_Lemme know when u want to pick up ur car from the restaurant._

The text was from a number he didn’t recognize, a random 585 area code. _Who is this??_

_Ryan._

Shit. Ryan had put him in the cab last night, arm wrapped around his hips helping to keep him walking in a straight line. Steven groaned and curled up into a ball, beating his forehead with his phone. What a fucking idiot.

_Im sorry im an asshole_

_Ur a very funny drunk._

Fuck his entire life.

_Pls tell me I didnt say anything stupid_

_Only how much you loved me._

Steven’s whole body went hot. There’s no way he said that. Ryan has to be joking with him. Because he likes the guy, sometimes thinks about what he’d feel like against his skin, might have once held on to the idea of laying him out on his desk and giving him a mark to rival Heddy’s, but he’d never say it aloud.

That was the rule.

_Sorry u had to take care of me_

_Shut up and give me ur address im picking u up._

Steven did as he was told and forced himself into the bathroom. 

 ~

Ryan showed up twenty minutes later with a bottle of water and something that smelled greasy. Steven reached for the bag automatically but Ryan pulled it out of reach.

“Drink this first. All of it.”

Steven obeyed and was rewarded with a bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich that he tore into on the couch. “Seriously though,” he said between bites. “You didn’t have to do this. But the fact that you did…thank you.”

“You weren’t even that drunk. You don’t have to look so embarrassed.”

“Mmmpf,” Steven hummed around another mouthful.

“But it’s always nice to hear how pretty my eyes are.”

He choked on everything – the sandwich, his own saliva, the general air around him – while his whole body blushed hot, so hot he started sweating.

But Ryan was laughing at him. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed. “I’m sorry, Johnny put me up to it. He was right. Your face. It was so worth it.”

“What the fuck!” he shouted. A chewed up piece of egg may have flown out of his mouth. “I’m going to _kill him_.”

“Oh my god, this is great.”

“You made me think…I _thought_ I…”

Ryan’s wide open smile fell to something resembling a smirk. He had his leg crossed, ankle over knee, and his arm draped along the back of the couch they shared. Steven caught his eyes (a fucking perfect blue, _thank you very much_ ) flick down to his own mouth and back up.

Sometimes, to be fair, Steven was impressed with Ryan’s work ethic. In the way he was the genuine kind of guy who’d always say _yeah, sure, no problem_ and actually mean it. He was impressed at how good of a bro he was after such a short time and how quickly he fit in, like he’d been here all along.

And then there were sometimes, _like this time right here_ , when all he could think about was dropping to his knees in front of him and begging, when his mouth would water over things he couldn’t have.

“C’mon,” Ryan said. “Let’s go get your car. I told them I’d be back within the hour.”

The air sizzled, like a fire put out by the rain.


	7. Valarie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you keeping score at home, I think I've got this plotted out to 17 chapters. I'm not exactly making promises that it'll stay that way, but I think it'll be 17 chapters.

Val loved birthdays – loved throwing birthday parties for her friends, loved making sure they had fun, loved to over-celebrate them.

So Thursday was a welcome distraction. Because nothing was better than three birthdays on one day.

The Lightning weren’t playing so she was able to convince Stammer to shut down a couple hours early and hang the dusty _closed for private party_ sign they hadn’t used since last year.

 _Puck_ looked adorable covered in blue and white crepe paper and balloons and confetti she’d have to clean up later. Heddy had agreed to make cupcakes, just like last year, and he was currently busy frosting them in the back.

“Oh wow,” Val said, taking in the sheer amount of tiny cakes set around the kitchen. “Can I help?”

“Um, I was going to put sprinkles on the chocolate ones and cherries on the vanilla,” he said, piping perfect swirls on the row of cupcakes in front of him.

“I’m a sprinkle master, so you’re in luck,” she said, picking up the container of them. She watched for a smile but it never came. He hadn’t been smiling much recently and she couldn’t help but think maybe she was the reason for that. She appraised him, watching the little wrinkles between his eyebrows crease as he continued frosting.

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Maybe I like what I see.”

Heddy flushed up his neck, darkening his already tan skin. “That’s not fair,” he said, voice measured and exact.

Val opened her mouth to say it’s completely fair, that maybe she wouldn’t mind doing it all again, that maybe she’d like to climb him like a tree every night until they were tired of each other. That maybe she wished she was good enough for him.

“Yo,” Johnny yelled through the door, startling them both. “The birthday boys are here. We’re doing shots.”

There were still a couple dozen naked cupcakes on Heddy’s station and Val could see his struggle between leaving something unfinished and taking birthday shots with his bros. “I’ll finish ‘em up,” she said.

He eyed her with extreme trepidation.

“I have frosted many a cupcake.” She snatched the piping bag out of his hand. “And if they’re not up to your specifications, you can disown them.”

“Those get cherries,” he said, pointing at them.

She saluted as Johnny tugged him towards the bar.

 

* * *

 

Nikki arrived fashionably late with Alex right behind. Which was perfect timing because Val wanted a shot.

“What are you drinking tonight?” she yelled in her direction.

“Tequila!”

Her breath definitely smelled like she’d already started down that road. “Did she already break into the Jose?” she asked Alex.

“Wanted to bring it with her in the cab.”

So it was going to be that kind of celebration. “Jo! Pally! Get the fuck over here!”

Jo was already flushed red in the face, eyes a little glassy, wide smile plastered all over the place. “What are we doing?” he slurred.

“Birthday shots!”

“Oh, right. I’ve had so many of those.”

Pally looked significantly less drunk, still walking in straight lines and keeping quiet. “You’re taking a double,” she pronounced.

He willingly accepted the large shot glass Kuch placed in front of him and salted the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

“This one needs sugar,” she said, pointing at Nikki.

Kuch threw a packet her way. “This is going to be messy night,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But we’re aiming to keep the messy in a bar I don’t have to clean up.”

“Is this tequila? I don’t think I can do tequila,” Jo said. “It doesn’t smell very good.”

“What you want, then?” Kuch asked, still manning the bar. “Sweet, yes?”

“Yes please,” he practically purred.

Val scanned the near vicinity to find a suitor for the rejected shot. “Jase! Hey, Jason!”

He looked nice in a dark t-shirt and jeans. Not that Val didn’t always see him in dark clothing but he did something with his hair to make it not sit so flat and that made everything seem better. He was leading a very pretty girl behind him.

“This shot is for you.”

He sniffed it and made a face. “Why am I taking shots?”

“Hi, I’m Val,” she said to the pretty girl, blatantly ignoring his complaints. There’s no time for complaints.  

“Katie,” she said back with a smile, which was also pretty.

“Now you’re making me look like an asshole,” Jason said. “Everyone, this is Katie, my girlfriend.”

The others at the bar turned and acknowledged her.

“Shot for you?” Kuch asked.

“Not a fan,” she said. “I’ll let Jason field those.”

“I’m going to regret this,” he said, lifting his glass to join the others. “To birthdays, I guess.”

“TO BIRTHDAYS!”

The tequila burned, as expected, and Val reached over the bar for a slice of lime. She ended up with a lemon which was almost worse, but she already had it in her mouth and bit down through the pain. Kuch served up another beer for Pally and then the little crowd she gathered dispersed.

“Where the hell is Stammer?” she asked no one in particular.

“He was talking to Ryan,” Jo whined, having not gotten very far away from the bar. “Over away from everybody else. Ryan’s so cool. They totally like each other, don’t they.”

“Aw, honey,” Val said, patting him on the head like a dog. “I’m sorry.”

“Steven’s just really nice, right? And he doesn’t hate me for dropping things all over the place. I didn’t mean to have a crush on him.”

“No one hates you.”

“Customers hate me. Can’t do anything right.”

Val thought she saw tears welling up in the kid’s eyes. “Hey, no. It’s your birthday. You’re not allowed to get down on yourself today.”

“Is it time for another s-shot yet?” he asked, all sweet and hiccupy.

She was sober enough to know that sounded like a terrible idea. “How about karaoke?”

Jo’s eyes lit up like fireworks. “I _love_ karaoke!”

So he stayed awake just long enough to sing a really bad version of some Carrie Underwood song with Ceddy (“Why would you do this to my _ears_?” Alex yelled the whole time). After that, it was easy to pass him off to Vasy and his rather lovely (and not-pregnant) wife Kseniya, to take home and put to bed.

“You guys are the b-b-best,” he said, hiccupping on the last word.

“Everyone say bye to Jo!” Val announced to the room at-large.

Various calls and shouts canceled each other out until it all turned to a mass of cheers and general birthday wishes. Jo made Vasy take him to the diminished pile of cupcakes for a road snack, and then they were gone.

“I’m meeting Kit at the bar,” Nikki said out of nowhere, tapping away on her phone.

“Who?”

“Kit.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“The guy. With the glasses and the nice teeth. From the place.”

Val let that one go and headed off to start rounding everyone up so she could figure out how many cabs they’d need. Ben and Boyler were sitting in a booth covered in empty glasses and beer bottles, talking to Heddy and Stralsy. There was definitely an arm draped along Ben’s shoulders. An arm belonging to Boyler.

Pally, Johnny, and Kuch had also commandeered their own table and Val realized that he had brought Anna. How monogamous of him. They took shots and Johnny immediately regretted his, from the look on his face.

“That shit is straight rubbing alcohol. How do you not die every time you drink it, what the fuck.”

“You make terrible Russian,” Kuch said, laughing. “You and Ben and Boyler. Terrible.”

“Pally’s not Russian!”

“But he drink like Russian. Is most important part.”

“Hey Boyler, where’s your roomie?” Alex shouted across the room.

He made the general arm-flail motion for _no fucking idea_ and settled it back around Ben’s shoulders. Which was fucking adorable because it made him giggle and lean in a little. Someone needed to find Ryan. And Stammer, now that Val had a proper look around. She’d lost count of how many people were still here. It was too much effort to start over.

The bottom line was they needed like, a lot of cabs. Or maybe a bus that was also a cab.

“That’s a limo,” someone said from behind her.

“What?”

“A bus that is also a cab. What you’re thinking of is a limo.” It was Ceddy and he looked smug while sipping on his domestic piss-beer.

She was pretty sure she hadn’t even said anything aloud. “You think you’re helpful but you’re not.”

“I’m extra helpful. Where are we going?”

“Cabana Jacks.”

“We could totally walk there,” he suggested. “It’s not even four blocks away.”

“I don’t wanna walk.” Nikki had come over just to stick out her lower lip and pout.

“You’re not even wearing heels, you’re _fine_ ,” Alex said.

“But it’s my _birthday_.”

“Take another shot and shut up.”

Val thought about it, examining her own footwear. She’d probably walked farther in higher heels at some point in her life. “Okay, walking will work. Good job, very helpful. Now go find Stammer.”

“Um, no,” Ceddy said. “I’m pretty sure I saw him and Cally go into his office like, twenty minutes ago. I’m not interrupting that.”

 _Pfft_ , twenty minutes was plenty of time for orgasms to happen. “Fine, you gather everyone else then.”

She headed for the office next to the kitchen and pressed her ear against the door, just for precaution’s sake. It was hard to hear over the music, but she was pretty sure there was laughing and maybe a little arguing. And it kind of sounded like hockey?

“What the fuck are you guys doing in here?” she asked, bursting into the room.

There was a six-pack of fancy craft beer strewn about the desk that was still covered in work papers. Ryan was the one laughing, shoulders hunching up around his ears. Stammer’s face was red, not because he was blushing, but because Ryan had taken a stab at the Lightning’s honor. Or something.

“I know our goaltending sucks but we should still be able to _score_. One should not dictate the other.”

“I mean,” Ryan started, struggling to keep a straight face. “If you have bad goaltending, you could at least have a solid defense core. But that’s pretty lacking as well. It doesn’t matter how much you score if the other team is also scoring on like, every third shot.”

“It is not that bad! We’re in the middle of a rebuild!”

“Oh god you’re so angry! It’s amazing,” he cackled.

“Not everyone can have Henrik Lundqvist in net!”

“You’re right. But it’s like your scouts aren’t even trying. Roloson? Really? That’s the goalie you trade for?”

“Enough,” Val said. “This is seriously what you’re doing in here? We’re leaving. And neither of you are drunk enough if you’re still able to _argue about hockey_.”

 

* * *

 

Cabana Jacks was, objectively, terrible. The bar was surrounded by plastic palm trees lit up with multicolored Christmas lights and a constant stream of Jimmy Buffet crooned through the air. Their tables were always sticky and smelled like coconut rum but attractive beach bums in _Suns Out, Guns Out_ tank tops swarmed to the place. Which basically cancelled out the horrendous conditions.

“Wow,” Ryan said, sticking his ID back in his wallet. “This place is…”

“Cheap,” Val finished for him. “And full of hot people.”

“I’ve got first round,” Stammer announced. “Go find a table.”

Heddy made a beeline for a cluster of tables in the far corner with Ben and Boyler not far behind. Nikki was still attached to her phone, absently looking up every now and then to check the door. Alex herded her towards the table, steering around any obstacles in their course. Johnny pulled Pally to the bar where Stammer had wedged his way in, already calling for shots.

She was so lucky to work with people she loved. God her friends were amazing. Even when they were assholes, they were amazing.

“I can see you getting a little misty-eyed there,” Alex chided, having dropped Nikki in a chair. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Sometimes I just remember how much I love it here. You know how I get.”

“Well, duh. The weather alone pretty much beats Michigan every time,” she said, laying a soft shoulder check.

“The people too.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty awesome.”

The group of boys at the bar cheered and downed something that looked way too big to be considered a shot. Stammer was the first to slam his glass back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“He can really put it away, eh?” Ryan nodded toward the shenanigans at the bar, hands in his pockets. He was rocking up onto his toes and back onto his heels.

“Yeah, I’ve heard he’s a great swallower,” Alex deadpanned.

He smiled along. “Technique looked pretty good.”

“You know he’s kind of easy for it, right?” Val said. “Like, you don’t have to woo him? Or wait until the third date. So do us all a favor and tap that.”

“I like to take my time.”

“Boyler seems to be making some headway,” Alex said, motioning towards where he was leaning into Ben on the far wall, barely ducking down to talk right against his ear.

“Yeah, he’s never been very patient. Big fan of instant gratification. Especially when he finds something he likes.”

“They look good together,” Val offered.

“Kit! Kit! Kit!” the-blur-that-was-Nikki yelled as she ran towards the door. They watched her greet the tall guy near the door mouth-first, knocking his thin little glasses askew when she wrapped her arms around his neck. Val recognized him from Czar the other night.

“It’s kind of amazing how not-incestuous you guys are,” Ryan said. “Back at my place in New York, everyone was hooking up with everyone else. It was a train-wreck.”

Val looked over his shoulder towards Heddy who was still sitting, nursing a bottle of beer on the other side of Ben and Boyler. He continued to look miserable.

“Or are you all just really functional exes?” Ryan asked, following her gaze with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m gonna leave that one alone,” Alex said. “And get myself a strong drink.”

“I’m also not drunk enough for this conversation. It’s a birthday party. Seriousness should be left at the door,” she said, stern.

“So you two were together?”

“No. And it’s not gonna happen.”

“Somehow I don’t see him turning you down.”

Val sighed. “It’s not about that.”

She watched Johnny and Pally head for the table, bringing a small group of fairly attractive women with them. The one in the little black shorts and sparkly tank top sat next to Heddy. Val watched as he let her strike up a conversation, nodding at her as she talked animatedly with her hands. She nearly knocked over his beer but he caught it, quick reflexes. She laughed at something, throwing her head back, and Heddy smiled.

Val’s stomach clenched.

“Yeah, let’s get you a shot of something,” Ryan said, pushing her towards Alex at the bar.

Alex, being the queen that she is, already had a trio of fireballs waiting. “In hopes of drowning all topics of that nature for the rest the night.”

“There you are!” Stammer said, catching sight of them. “I got you a beer but then I couldn’t find you.”

Ryan accepted the Bud Light with a smile. “I’m gonna head out after this though, I think. And I want nothing to do with _that.”_ He pointed to the shot glasses on the bar.

“No fun,” Alex said, passing his shot off to Stammer.

“Someone’s gotta open the restaurant tomorrow.”

“I think your sous chefs might be a little late.” Val pointed them towards the table with Johnny, Heddy, the girls, and Ben and Boyler now spectators to Pally throwing back a row of five shots in varying colors.

“Pally doesn’t open,” Stammer said, attempting some reassurance. “But Kuch is late even when he’s not hungover so, yeah.”

“Where _is_  Kuch?” Val asked. “I bet that fucker went home early to get laid.”

“Nikki left too,” Alex said. “You got your eye on anyone?”

Val shrugged. “Haven’t really looked.”

“Saw a nice couple of bros in neon polo shirts over there,” Ryan said around a sip of beer. “Could be fun.”

“If I was twenty.”

“We, uh, might be sexiled for a hot minute.” Alex was scrolling through her phone. “I think her and Glasses went back to our place.”

“So another round of shots?” Val proposed.

“I’m going to fold,” Ryan said.

“Boo, maybe next time the _slave driver_ won’t schedule you so early,” she teased.

“Nah, I’m happy to do it. Have a good night, tell Pally and Nikki happy birthday from me.” He gave them a little wave and headed for the door.

Val waited until she saw he had crossed the street before turning on Stammer. “You should go for it.”

“Huh?”

“Ryan. You should make a move.”

He sighed. “I can’t. You know I would but I can’t.”

“If this another one of your self-imposed rules I’m going to scream,” Alex said, queuing up another round of shots on the bar.

“I just…I don’t do co-workers,” he said in a rush. “And especially not now when I’m the _owner_. That’s just bad news.”

“Everyone knows Ben’s already your favorite so it’s not like we’re going to think you’re giving him special treatment or something,” Alex said, laughing. 

“Don’t laugh at me, everyone has rules,” he pouted.

“Rules are made to be broken.” Val slammed back one of the shots.

Alex did the same and hissed at the burn. “He could be _the one_ and you're going to miss out on it because of a stupid rule.”

“He’s not the one, shut the fuck up.”

“He could be.”

Val looked back to the table, as was becoming a regular occurrence, to find Ben and Johnny cheering Pally on again and Heddy wrapped around Sparkly-Tank-Top.

“Gimme another shot.” It was plain vodka that hadn’t been chilled and was fucking disgusting but overall, it probably felt better than watching Heddy kiss someone else.

“You’re having a feeling again, aren’t you,” Alex asked.

“Yeah. _Fuck.”_


	8. Ben

“We’re getting _way_ too old for this,” Ben complained, arm flung over his eyes. The rhythmic sound of the waves was helping ease his crushing headache but he hoped the sun would evaporate the rest of the alcohol still left in his body.

“Way too old,” Stammer agreed from the towel next to him.

“I hope Johnny and Cally are doing okay with the kitchen.”

“Shouldn’t get busy until tonight when everyone’s fully recovered.”

“Unless they’re old like us.”

“I need to hire another chef.” Stammer dug a water bottle out of the small cooler they brought. It was his third of the day.

“I thought you were going to bring Vasy up the ranks. He’s got the cooking background, even if he is so young.”

“You need a proper backup now, though. You work too much overtime.”

Ben puffed out a laugh. “You know I’m not actually a goalie anymore.”

Stammer flapped his hand. “Whatever. What if I find a temp? To take some of the workload while you train Vasy.”

“Do we have the money for that?”

“No.” Stammer groaned. “God I’m such a fucking workaholic. We’re literally laying on the beach, massively hungover, and I can’t shut up about the restaurant.”

“To be fair, I brought it up.”

Stammer flipped over to his stomach, head pillowed on his crossed arms. “I’ll put an ad out. Maybe I can cut the kids’ time a bit.”

“It’s probably safe to drop a host on Tuesday and Wednesday.”

“And with Nikki behind the bar a little, Vlad and Ceddy can split the solo shifts – maybe just during dinner rush. The servers can suck it up and deal with seating people during lunch. Vasy only wants part-time right now so I’ll give him mostly weekends when we’ll need two. Jo’s terrible at everything but washing dishes isn’t rocket science. I’ll just take him off hosting all together.”

“Any servers looking to leave?”

“Brenden’s going, but not until the end of the summer. They want to get settled before Bryelle has to start school. Not that it matters much, money-wise.”

“Right. So we’re a little tight, but we’ll make it work.”

Ben watched a little girl toddle towards a cluster of seagulls and squeal as they took off in flight. The sound would be cute on any other day.

“Maybe I should just put Ceddy on the floor. He’s wanted off hosting for a while.”

“But Vladdy’s got finals coming up, right? He’s gonna drop his hours a little.”

“Jo and Nikki can pitch in. Or people can just seat themselves, I don’t give a fuck. It can be like the Hunger Games of serving. They can all just wrestle to see who gets the table.”

“Maybe just crunch the numbers when we go back. We have enough people, it’ll just be about balancing their time.”

Stammer mumbled something that sounded like _fuck the numbers_ and chugged most of his water _._ “I think I can feel my back burning,” he said, clearer. “Burn away the alcohol, sun. Burn it away.”

“Or you could put sunscreen on.”

“ _Burn it away_.”

“So dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who thought he was going to puke all morning so _please drive slowly around turns I’m going to die._ ”

Ben punched him in the shoulder.

 

* * *

 

 _Puck_ was still running despite their mini-escape to bake in the sun and float around in the gulf all afternoon. Johnny looked a little worse for wear and Kuch refused to take off his sunglasses, but that wasn’t too far out of the ordinary for a Friday lunch. Apparently Jo dropped a record-breaking sixteen plates early on but other than that, the day had gone unblemished.

“Boyler’s looking for you,” Jason said, picking up two burgers and a basket of onion rings from the line.

“Oh?”

Johnny leaned into his space, fluttering his eyelashes. “He’s so hot for you, it’s disgusting. Someone should tell him to have better taste.”

“Fuck off.”

Brian clearly isn’t playing hard to get. It’s pretty obvious to everyone in the near vicinity who exactly he’s interested in. Which is embarrassing. Ben blushed just thinking about it.

But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t also being pretty obvious. Because everyone in the near vicinity should be able to see just how fucking attractive Brian was with his charm turned on. No one would blame him for caving so quickly. No one.

Which is why he said yes without hesitation to the pair of tickets Brian flashed at him from behind the bar. And then he said yes again when he realized they were Theory of a Deadman concert tickets.

“I think the venue’s standing room only,” Brian said. “Have you been there before?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s kind of small. Our faces are going to melt off.”

“Awesome,” he said, beaming. “I tried to see them when they came through New York like, five years ago but I couldn’t get the time off.”

“I didn’t even know they were still touring.”

“A little help over here, Boyler,” Nikki called from the other end of the bar.

Brian startled, stuffing the tickets back in his pocket. “I can pick you up. If you want?”

“Yeah, o-okay,” Ben stuttered. “It’s a date.” And shit, _fuck,_ maybe it’s not a date and he just went and made it awkward, what the fuck, his stupid mouth—

“I sure hope so.” Brian’s smile was soft and Ben’s whole body went hot. God, he was so embarrassing. “I’ll be there at seven, text me your address.”

 

* * *

 

Ben made the executive decision to work lunch on Monday (“Just shut up, I’m not taking a whole day off. It’s _so_ not that big of a deal.”). It was fine. It gave him plenty of time to get ready for the concert that night.

But he didn’t bank on the new fryer arriving that morning and prep being jacked up because of it. He didn’t expect to still be making burger patties as the first little rush of tickets came in. He didn’t really think Jo was going to cut himself with a steak knife so badly he’d have to go home.

So lunch was a little rough.

And it was easy for “just working lunch” to turn into “I can stay and help get everything back under control” which became “Fuck, I’ve got to go” around 5:45, nearly two hours after he was meant to leave.

“Better get kiss,” Kuch said. “Tell us all about tomorrow.”

“Remember to use protection,” Johnny offered.

“Fuck both of you.” He was nervous enough as it was, he didn’t need to think about…all that. “I’m not telling you shit.”

 

* * *

 

He had four different shirts laid out and two pairs of jeans that were basically identical except for the way that one of them was frayed around the left pocket when he realized he was out of his depth.

“I can’t do this,” he said when Stammer picked up.

“What are you talking about?”

“The date. I can’t…I can’t even pick a pair of jeans and he’s going to be here in like fifteen minutes and my hair is --.”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupts. “First of all, calm the fuck down.”

Ben didn’t think that was very helpful advice.

“Second of all, all your jeans look the same. So just _pick a pair_.”

That’s completely untrue, but okay. Just pick a pair. “What about a shirt? What do people wear to a concert that is also a date?”

“Black.”

All four of the shirts on his bed were black. “Long or short sleeve?”

“You’d sweat your dick off in long sleeves.”

“T-shirt or polo.”

“You’re not going golfing, what the fu--. Come on, Bishie, quit being stupid. I know you’ve been on dates before.”

 _But this one’s different_ , is what he doesn’t say. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Go do your hair,” Stammer said. “And take a shot.”

“What?”

“It’ll take the edge off. It’s the only way I can go to the dentist,” he replied. “And I’m not comparing your date with Boyler to a root canal, I’m just saying it’ll help.”

He checks the clock and swears. “I’ve gotta go.”

 

Brian is, mercifully, a few minutes late but that still doesn’t leave Ben time to panic over what shoes to wear before answering the door.

His jaw might’ve dropped a little at how gorgeous Brian looked in a plain black v-neck that stretched across his pecs. It kind of made his mouth water.

“Glad you got the black shirt and jeans memo,” Brian said, running fingers through his hair – long enough to tuck behind his ears.

And shit, they’re pretty much wearing the same exact thing. “I can, uh, change real quick.”

“No, don’t. You look great.”

“Yeah?” he said, immediately flushing. “I mean, uh, yeah, you too.” Ben seriously wished he could just shut the door and start over. “Sorry, lemme just turn off the lights…”

Brian stayed on the doorstep like some regency gentleman or a vampire waiting to be invited inside. Shit, he didn’t even _invite him inside_.

Ben threw back the shot of vodka he’d poured himself earlier and grabbed his phone from the bedroom. The vodka _burned_.

“Okay,” he said, back at the still-open door. “I’m ready.”

Brian smiled and ushered him down the creaky stairs to where his white pickup truck was waiting. Ben held his breath when Brian headed for the passenger side, thinking for a split second he was actually going to _open the door for him._

But Brian just popped the lock through the open window. “The power locks are shot. I can’t bring myself to pay to get it fixed.”

Right. 

 

The concert was at an old warehouse bar that someone hollowed out to fit a few hundred people and a stage. It wasn’t anything to look at but Ben had seen some good people there, usually just before they made it big. He wasn’t a music snob or anything, he just liked live bands.

“You want a drink?” Brian asked, once they got through the line.

“Sure, just whatever you’re having.”

“I’m having a Jack and coke,” he replied in a tone Ben read as _I know that’s not what you want._

“Uh, just a beer. Bud Light or whatever.”

“Okay, go stake out a place,” he said, nodding towards the stage. “I’ll come find you.”

Ben agreed before he had a momentary panic at the thought of Brian not being able to find him in the crowd. Then he remembered he was a good six inches taller than the rest of the crowd and it’d be fine.

He weaved his way by a group of very angry looking guys covered in piercings and another group of girls with oddly colored hair and pretty impressive tattoos. The one with lavender hair was wearing a top that could only be considered lingerie. Nope. On closer inspection, it was just a bedazzled bra.  

He kept moving.

The problem with being taller than the rest of the crowd was finding a spot that wouldn’t block a whole section of people. Ben had enough random bros complain to him about how he was blocking his girl’s view to know he had to be strategic about these things.

So he settled near the back, almost directly in line with one of the speakers set up on stage. In a venue this small, there really wasn’t a bad place to be, but Brian had seemed excited about the prospect of having his face melted off.

Guys in all black started picking up instruments and strumming a few chords, adjusting the amps, and strumming again. It wouldn’t be long until show time.

He pulled out his phone and cleared off the text notifications, mostly just Johnny being a dick. He replied to Stammer, though, and got lost in his Facebook news feed.

“Take these before I drop them.”

Ben looked up to find a pair of brown bottles and two mixed drinks being thrust at him. He quickly relieved Brian of the beers. “They let you buy four drinks?”

“I’m persuasive,” he said, smirking. “And there was no way I was standing in that line again. So make those last.”

He took a long pull of the beer in his right hand, quickly realizing it tasted a lot better than Bud Light. “I would’ve been fine with something less fancy.”

“But you prefer that.”

“How do you know?” he asked, genuinely curious. He didn’t think they ever talked about his affinity for Sam Adams.

“It’s what you got the night you learned my name properly.”

“Really?”

Brian laughed. “I’m pretty observant when I like what I’m looking at.”

“Oh geez.” Ben was done for.  

 

Theory of a Deadman were great. Halfway through the set, when Brian’s hair was starting to curl with sweat and they’d both finished off their drinks, Ben leaned into him a little. Just a little, rocking his hips back and forth and singing along with the songs he knew.

Brian wrapped an arm around his waist and maneuvered him to where he could rest both hands low on his hips. Ben stopped moving.

“No!” Brian shouted near his ear. “Don’t stop!”

“What?” he yelled back, twisted to try and read his lips maybe.

Brian flexed his fingers that were wrapped around Ben’s hips. “Keep dancing!”

And that’s how Ben ended up grinding against Brian at a rock concert while being wrapped up in his big, sturdy arms. Every now and then, Brian would dip his head to run his cheek against Ben’s neck or his lips against the shell of his ear. If Ben was honest, he didn’t pay attention to the last three songs they played. He didn’t notice the girl with lavender hair get on someone’s shoulders. He didn’t notice the security guard push his way through the crowd to get her down.

All he really cared about was the way Brian held his hips close, the way he followed the rhythm Ben was moving to, the way his fingers would tighten every so often. It all added to the low-level arousal burning in the pit of his stomach.

He wanted Brian.

Wanted to turn around and press against him, lick into his mouth, run his fingers through his hair. Maybe get on his knees for him. Maybe look up at him and tell him he could have anything he wanted.

“Fuck,” he huffed out as Brian dipped his fingertips into the waistband of his jeans.

This concert was too fucking long.

 

* * *

 

Ben had never been so happy for the lights to come on and people to start milling towards the exit.

“That was fucking awesome,” Brian said, stretching his arms up and over his head, rolling his neck back and forth. “I’m not gonna be able to hear anything tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Ben replied, suddenly shy without the cover of heavy rock music. “It was great. Thank you.”

“Let’s get you home.”

Brian grabbed Ben’s hand to lead him towards the exit and he knew it was already sweaty and probably getting sweatier but he tightened the grip anyway.

His ears were definitely ringing when they got back in the truck but the ride across the bridge was nice with the windows down. They got back to Ben’s apartment in no time.

Brian didn’t cut the engine when he parked next to the curb. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.” This was his _opening_ , his chance to make a move. He swallowed. “You wanna come up?”

Brian dropped his hand from the steering wheel. “I didn’t think you were that type of girl,” he teased.

“I’m usually not,” Ben said honestly, fixing him with a stare he hoped conveyed just how badly he wanted him to turn the car off.

Brian smiled, soft and close-lipped, finally taking the key out of the ignition.

It felt like a big deal when he led them up the stairs and fumbled with his own keys, dropping them once. Brian wasn’t touching him but he could feel how close he was, how if he just took a step back he’d run right into him.

“I get to come inside this time, right?” he whispered once Ben got the right key in the lock.

“Yes, please,” he said, turning to pull Brian through the doorway by the V in his shirt.

Their lips crashed together before the door even shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I lied about the rating going up for sexy-times. But I'll probably write timestamps and missing scenes and shit after I get the whole main plot done? Maybe?


	9. Vladislav

“Pay up, bitches,” Nikki bragged to the group of underlings huddled around the host stand.

“For what?” Jo asked.

“I was right about Bish and Boyler.”

“No shit,” Vlad said. “Everyone knew they were gonna bang.”

“Then why’d you bet against me?”

“Bish was only half the bet.”

“Fine,” she said. “Then give me half the money.”

“That’s not how a double-down works. You can have the full ten after Cally seduces Stammer.”

Nikki slumped off mumbling something about that _taking forever, we’ll all be dead._

Everyone had been forced to listen to Johnny tease Bish about his date all morning. To be honest, it was pretty obvious he got laid the way he came in beaming with coffees for everyone. He was easy prey.

_“Is his dick proportional? I bet it is.”_

_“Is_ your _dick proportional?”_ Ben spit back, loud enough to be heard through the kitchen door.

Jo snickered into the silverware he was rolling.

“Hey,” Stammer said, his arms full with a box of lettuce. “When Ceddy and Vasy get here, will you all just head into my office?”

“Uh, I didn’t think they were working today?”

“I called a meeting. With just the bussing and hosting staff. Didn’t you get my text?”

“I stopped reading after the date and time since I was already gonna be here.”

“Okay, great,” he said, continuing on to the kitchen.

“Did you know we were having a meeting?” Vlad asked Jo.

“Yeah.”

“Are we in trouble?” His gut sank, suddenly trying to figure out what stupid shit he’d done lately.

“I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t think anyone’s getting fired. And if they are, it would definitely be me. So I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Yeah great, he thought. Now was not the time to get fired. He was barely making ends meet as it was. Rent was coming due in a couple days and he still didn’t have enough in his paltry bank account. He needed this job. Frankly, he probably needed another job too.

“Table for two please,” Ceddy said, leaning against the host stand.

“Fuck off.”

“You know what this meeting is about?” Vasy asked.

“Not a clue.”

The group headed for Stammer’s office, collecting Nikki on the way.

“I feel like we’re in the principal’s office,” she said.

Vlad couldn’t disagree.

“Okay,” Stammer said, bursting in – they all startled. “I’m going to make this quick and painless.”

Vlad watched Jo white-knuckle his knees.

“We need to hire a temp cook to help Ben out while he’s training Vasy.”

“Train me to cook?”

“Yes. Hopefully it won’t take long with the experience you already have.”

“Yes. I’m quick study. Very fast.”

“Great. So while Ben and Vasy are overlapping shifts in the afternoons and slow nights, the temp cook will take over any peak shifts Ben usually works. The reason I’m telling you this is because I’m going to have to shuffle some of you around to free up some money to pay him.”

Vlad’s gut sank.

“Jo, I’m taking you off hosting for now. I think you only had one host shift next week anyway, so now you have that day off and will only be bussing. Vlad and Ceddy, I’m cutting lunch hosting, so you’ll only be working nights until further notice. Unless it’s a game night or a weekend, we’ll only have one host on duty per dinner shift.”

“That sucks,” Ceddy said. “There’s no way I’m going to make enough money splitting nights with Vladdy.”

“It’s temporary,” Stammer said. “Once Vasy’s up and running, shifts will go back to normal. For now, I’ll have you both on-call for bussing on the game nights you’re not already working.”

“What about me?” Nikki asked. “I’m already only working two bar shifts a week during off-hours. I need my hosting shifts to make rent.”

“I talked to Killer about getting you some higher money shifts and she was fine to work with you until everything goes back to normal.”

“Are any of the servers getting their hours cut?” Ceddy asked, voice sharp.

“They aren’t the one’s eating up my payroll.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just…this is the best I could come up with without firing one of you. Which I absolutely don’t want to do. We desperately need another cook. I’ll understand if you pick up another job or want to quit. But this is the best I can do.”

Vlad didn’t really want a new job. He didn’t have the time to search for a new job, either. Not with finals looming in the vague distance and the two papers he hadn’t started and the reading he’s behind on. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“Are we done here?” Ceddy snapped, already standing.

“Yeah, were done,” Stammer said. “I’ll have the new schedule posted tonight.”

“Great.”

 Vlad twitched as he slammed the office door behind him.

 

Ceddy invited himself over that night, which wasn’t so much a surprise as it was a massive inconvenience.

“Dude, this is fucking bullshit,” he said for the one-thousandth time, sprawled across Vlad’s couch and clicking through the TV channels too fast to even comprehend what was on them.

“ _Dude_ , you have got to shut up or I’m kicking you out.” He had been working on this Ethics paper for two hours and only had one poorly written paragraph to show for it. “I cannot deal with you right now.”

“Why do you not care about this?”

“I will fucking care about it when I’m done with this paper! Go run around the block or something.”

“Fuck you.” Ceddy stomped all the way to the door and Vlad could hear him take the stairs down to the street. He watched him through the front window as he fiddled with his phone and then turned around to give Vlad the finger.

The intro music to South Park came on and he got up to click the mute button. God his brain was tired – tired of searching for quotes and properly formatting his opening paragraph and making sure the grammar of his sentences wasn’t fucked.

He caved and popped an Adderall.

 

* * *

 

“You look like shit,” Ceddy said on the first weekday they both had off.

“Thanks, man.”

“No seriously, are you sick? You’ve got to tell me. I don’t want to sit in your germs.”

“I’m not sick. I’m just fucking exhausted.”

Ceddy had brought a six pack over and his copy of Halo that had all of their game progress saved on it. “You got your papers done, right? We can actually play?”

“Yes I got my fucking papers done. Please distract me with gun violence,” he said, picking up a controller.

“Can we also talk about how shitty it is we’re not working right now?”

“I guess.”

“Really? You _guess_? Are you gonna look for another job or what?”

Vlad shrugged. “I don’t really know. If it stays like this for too long, I guess I’ll have to. Stammer said it’d be temporary so…”

Ceddy navigated the opening menus of the game. “He told us he would cross-train us on the floor and instead he cuts our hours. It’s bu--.”

“Bullshit, I know. You’ve said.”

He huffed. “I’m just tired of being the shitty, low-level employee everywhere I work.”

“Maybe he’ll let you replace Brenden when he leaves.”

“Brenden’s leaving?”

“Yeah,” Vlad said, selecting his pre-saved character. “His wife got a new job so they’re leaving before his kid starts school in the fall.”

Ceddy was changing out his weapons. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I listen when people talk.”

“Hmm.”

The conversation dipped once the game started up, gunfire and teamwork letting Vlad relax into the couch. There was definitely a dull throb of responsibility somewhere in the back of his mind, but it was easy to ignore. He wasn’t _that_ far behind in his reading.

“Goddamnit, pay attention would you?” Ceddy shouted.

Vlad was too slow to realize he was being shot at and promptly died.

 

The next day in Ethics, the TA handed back their essays. Vlad’s heart sank when he saw the C- scrawled along the top of his. He needed to pass this class with at least a B to move on to his advanced capstone in the summer. At this rate he’d be lucky to scrape by with a C.

The last thing he wanted to do was retake Sports Ethics like a giant failure.

“I think he was tough on everybody,” Seth said from the seat next to him.

Vlad could see the B+ at the top of his paper and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, so very tough.”

“For any other class, this would’ve been an A paper.”

“And mine would’ve been a C-minus.”

“There’s still the final.”

“I so love essay exams.”

Seth shouldered his backpack as they stood up to follow the rest of the class out into the hall. “You wanna grab some late lunch?”

“There’s a game on tonight, I’ve gotta be at work a little early. Maybe next class?”

“We’ll see. If you wanna hang out and study during Dead Week, just text me or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They parted ways at the bottom of the steps, Seth heading towards his on-campus housing and Vlad heading for the commuter lot. They met almost two years ago when Vlad had been the new kid in Management 101 and Seth offered to be his partner for the first group project. He was nice, as far as people went.

He was also one of those people who could study for like, two hours the night before an exam and ace it. Like Nikki. And Killer, probably. It was frustrating as hell.

 

 _Puck_ was relatively dead when he got there, most of the servers and Ceddy were sitting at the bar talking to Boyler – who was wearing a bright blue Rangers jersey.

“Does Stammer know you’re wearing that?” he asked, joining them.

“It’s going to get ugly next week when they’re in town,” Jason said.

“Bar divided,” Shu agreed.

“Does _Ben_ know you’re wearing that?” Johnny asked, dropping off a bin of freshly washed silverware for them to start rolling.

“Ben does know he’s wearing that!” Bish stuck his head out of the kitchen door and yelled. “Despite my best efforts to get him to remove it before leaving the house.”

“House divided, too,” Shu amended, pulling out a handful of silverware to sort through.

“He really just wanted to see me without my shirt on,” Boyler joked. “It had nothing to do with the jersey.”

 _“You’re not supposed to be giving them ammunition,”_ Ben continued to yell.

“Gonna end up in the doghouse, bud.” Jason winked, getting up to go check on his patio tables.

“Whose jersey is it?” Vlad asked.

Boyler turned around to show the  _Prust_ across his shoulders and the number 8.

“You like the fighters?” Ceddy asked, perking up.

He shrugged. “I like the hot ones. The fights are just an added bonus.”

Vlad waited for some snarky comment from Bish but he had apparently stopped eavesdropping.

“They can clinch the division tonight,” Boyler said. “So they’ll need all the luck they can get.”

“Not sure luck reaches that far,” Ceddy scoffed. “Stammer’s gonna have a fit.”

“Good thing he’s not working tonight.” They all turned to see Cally coming out of the office in his own Rangers shirt.

“I’m telling on both of you tomorrow,” Ceddy threatened.

Cally smiled and nodded his head toward the door. “Looks like someone needs a table.”


	10. Tyler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened. This was not what I expected to write. *shakes fist at characters*

“Who the hell is that,” Tyler whispered to Heddy when he arrived in the kitchen to find someone other than Ben at the head chef’s station.

“Temp cook.”

The person in question was a sinewy woman with strong arms and angry eyes that drooped a little in the corners. Her hair looked thin and it brushed across her forehead in wispy bangs, kind of like Vladdy’s.

“Is she Russian?”

“With a name like Yevgeniya Nabokov. I’d say,” Heddy said.

They startled when she took out a large butcher’s knife and slammed the blade into the cage of the chicken she was breaking down.

“Holy shit.”

“We’re all going to die.”

“Oh good!” Stammer said, joining them with a bright smile. “You’ve met Yevgeniya, our temp cook.”

The woman glanced up from her chicken, blinked, and went back to work. Tyler pushed Stammer out of the kitchen, Heddy on his heels.

“She’s terrifying,” he said once they were out of earshot.

“She comes highly recommended.”

“Very serious,” Heddy added. “Not sure how she’ll take to the atmosphere of the kitchen.”

“You could all use to be a little more serious.”

“How long is she staying,” Tyler asked, ignoring Stammer’s jab at his work ethic.

“As long as it takes for Vasy to get the hang of things.”

“Gimme a ballpark.”

“A few months at the most. I want him to be solid before I put him in there alone.”

“Oh god.”

Pally was the next to arrive and mumbled something on his way to the kitchen, body still not fully awake judging by the soft slump of his spine. Tyler almost stopped him from going in, kind of afraid for his life if Yevgeniya still had her knife out.

As it happened, he entered the kitchen and came right back out, eyes wide.

“Temp cook,” Tyler informed.

“My god.”

Stammer looked incredibly pleased with himself. “I’d hate to see her work one of you out of a job.”

And like hell that was going to happen. Tyler squared his shoulders and burst back into the kitchen. _His_ kitchen.

“Hi, I’m Johnny,” he said, extending his hand.

Yevgeniya looked at his hand and lifted her own, which was currently pulling the gizzard out of a chicken. “Poor time for shake.”

Even her voice was terrifying – low and a bit gravely. Tyler wouldn’t be surprised if she’d done time behind bars somewhere.  

“Yevgeniya,” she said. “Nice to meet. You cook?”

“Uh, sous chef, yeah.”

“Chop, chop.” She pointed her knife in the direction of the grill.

Right, okay. He washed his hands and got to work.

It turned out that Yevgeniya was great under the swell of a small lunch crowd. She was great at managing the tickets and picked up the lingo of the kitchen before the end of her first shift. Tyler was impressed.

“Wonder how she’ll take to Kuch,” Pally said, scraping down the grill once she had left.

“Maybe they’ll bond over the motherland.”

“Or we’ll come in one day to find his severed head under the broiler.”

Tyler shivered. “Why did you have to go there?”

“Precisely for your reaction.”

“Uhg,” he groaned. “You coming over after you get off?”

“I might not be much fun,” Pally said. “Didn’t sleep a lot last night.”

Tyler waggled his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? She keep you up late?”

“My sleep schedule is not always dependent on sex.”

“Mhmm.”

“Leave me alone. Go be happy you’re not working a double.”

“Really though, we should hang out. My Xbox misses you.”

“Your multiplayer high score misses me.”

“That it does.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You can always crash on the couch.”

“Your couch is the worst couch to ever couch,” Ben said, butting into the conversation as he walked through the door, still in his street clothes. “No one would ever choose to sleep on it.”

“What he said,” Pally agreed.

“Fine, we can spoon in my bed if you really want,” he said, ignoring the knowledge of exactly how many times Pally had fallen asleep on his couch in the past two years.

“You’re really selling it,” he deadpanned.

“Fine. I’ll up it to snuggling.”

Ben laughed, pulling out his set of smaller, more traditional knives. “You two are the weirdest bros I’ve ever met.”

“We don’t actually snuggle,” Pally corrected.

“Sure you don’t.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Pally came over because he’s a sucker for Tyler’s gaming system and general amazingness and just can’t get enough of him.

“ _And_ you brought Chinese food, you’re the best,” he said, letting him in.

“Who said any of it was for you?”

“C’mon, I know there’s crab rangoon in there. You hate crab rangoon.”

Pally flopped on the couch that _is not terrible_ and flung the little bag of fried goodness Tyler’s way.

“Your generosity gains you first crack at the new GTA.”

“You’re telling me there is a game in this place that hasn’t been opened yet?” Pally said around a glob of lo mein.

“When I say first crack…”

“You mean you haven’t beaten any levels yet.”

“Ehhh.”

“You’ve only beaten _one_ level.”

“Closer. Look, you’ll understand when you see the graphics on this thing.” Honestly, it wasn’t his fault video games were so amazing. Pally should be happy he gets to play it at all. He hasn’t even had the time read up on it enough to know where all the Easter eggs are yet. This was true friendship at work.

“Load it up then.”

They played until Tyler went to hand the controller to Pally and found him sacked out against the armrest, mouth open a little, possibly drooling. Obviously the couch wasn’t that bad.

“Dude,” he said, pushing against his shoulder. “Hey, Pally.”

“Mffp?” He sat up a little, wiping a hand across his cheek. “Huh?”

“Your neck is gonna hate you in the morning, lay down properly.”

“I thought we were going to snuggle in your bed,” he said, soft with sleep. He rubbed at his eyes.

“I work in the morning.”

“Don’t care.”

“Don’t be pissed if I squish you against the wall like last time,” Tyler warned.

But he was already dragging the blanket off the back of the couch and heading down the hall. Tyler shut down the game and the console and the TV before clicking off the light. He’d throw away the take out boxes in the morning.

Even in the dark, he could see that Pally was curled up against the far side of his bed, a lump under the blanket that Tyler’s started to think of as _his_.

He kicked off his jeans and pulled on the oversized shirt he always wore to bed before climbing into the open space. The sheets were cold where he settled but the body next to him, breathing even with sleep, felt like fire.

He stared at the ceiling and recited last year’s playoff stats until he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Tyler woke up wrapped around Pally’s back, their hips slotted together and his arm heavy across his chest. His nose was pressed against the nape of Pally’s neck, every exhale fluttering against the hair there. He needed to get it cut.

Pally snuffled and arched his back, pressing against the suddenly apparent hard-on Tyler was sporting.

“Shit.” He carefully extracted himself from the bed and, grabbing his phone, headed for the shower.

Tyler had a lot of experience crushing on the hottest straight guy in school. Thinking about the captain of the soccer team or the really gorgeous tennis star as he got off in the shower while his parents were out at some dinner thing was how he got through high school unscathed.

And that was fine. He would have never talked to those guys. They were just a face he put on a naked body that he imagined pinning him to a bed or pressing him up against the cold tiles of a shower. It was a fantasy. Like straight guys imagining Victoria’s Secret models.

But from the moment he started working at _Puck_ and had to share the kitchen with this tall blond kid named Pally, it went all wrong. He had eyes, he knew the guy was cute, and he could definitely imagine his face on some ridiculously fit body and get off. So he did.

Except he also talked to Pally. They had conversations and hung out and went mini-golfing and stayed up late playing video games until suddenly Tyler knew what Pally wanted to do without him saying a word. He knew what kind of food he was in the mood for, if he was tired and lying about it, if something at home was going badly. He knew him better than anyone else in the entire world.

Which is where it had gone so terribly, terribly wrong.

Because one day it crossed the line from covering him up with a blanket when he fell asleep on the couch to waking up next to him in bed with a raging boner that was not bros _at all_.

He just had to keep pretending he didn’t sometimes think about the way Pally’s accent _might_ sound curving around his name as Tyler _maybe_ straddled his hips and bit little marks into his skin. They’d probably purple up so nice, so dark on his pale skin. And he’d tilt his neck back to give Tyler more to work with, begging for his lips and teeth and tongue. _Fuck._

His alarm went off at just the right moment to cover the moan that slipped through his lips.

“Are you going to be done any time in the next year?” Pally’s voice shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there forever.”

Tyler rinsed his hand and shut off the water. “Two minutes,” he called back. _Fuck fuck fuck._

“I’m going to piss on your Xbox.”

Tyler nearly brained himself jumping out of the tub and wrapping a towel around his waist. “Here,” he said, opening the door. “I’m done. It’s all yours.”

The steam from the shower slipped and swirled between them and Tyler knew his cheeks and chest were probably flushed pink from the hot water but he fixated on the little spread of color across Pally’s nose – embarrassment.

“Why?”

“Huh?”

Tyler shook his head. “Never mind. Sorry.”

_Good job, Tyler. A-plus work at not being a giant freak._

 

* * *

 

His phone rang as he pulled into the back lot of the restaurant, already five minutes late. “Mom?”

“Hi sweetheart.”

“Why are you calling so early?” he asked. “Isn’t it like, six in the morning your time? Is everything okay?”

“I just wanted to make sure I caught you before work. Everything’s fine.”

“Okay?”

“Your father and I are going on a cruise in a couple of weeks that leaves from Tampa and we thought it might be nice to stop in and see you for an evening before we set sail.”

Tyler knew that tone of voice. She wasn’t asking. “Uh, what’s the date?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying not to exhale too loudly.

“April twelfth. It’s a Sunday.”

“I mean, I usually work Sunday night--.”

“I’m sure that boss of yours will give you one night off.”

“Um, I can ask. I don’t think he’s made the schedule yet.”

“And bring your boyfriend.”

Tyler coughed. “My _who_?”

“The boy you always talk about, the one you work with. You’ve been dating for long enough. We want to meet him.”

A better man would have corrected her. A stronger man would have told her whatever it was that made her think he was dating Pally was wrong. A smarter man would have laughed it off as a joke. But he was none of those things. “O-okay, um, I’ll see what I can do.”

“You just seem so happy together, honey.”

“Yeah, uh.” His stomach recoiled at the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “We are.”

“Wonderful. I’ll text you our flight information so you can pick us up.”

“Great,” he gritted out.

“We’re just so excited to see you, darling. Kiss kiss.”

“Yeah, bye m--.” He was cut off by the _click_ of her hanging up.

Holy fuck his life.

 

Yevgeniya was already in the kitchen again, all angry-eyed and serious.

“Morning,” he said, wrapping an apron around his waist. “I’m gonna start on the burgers.”

Sticking his arms in a giant vat of ground beef sounded relaxing.

“Is need more season.”

“Huh?”

“Beef needs more…uh.” She held up a pepper grinder. “Taste plain.”

Tyler wasn’t about to mess with Ben’s recipe. Their burgers were plenty _season_. “Okay.”

“Where other?” she asked.

“Kuch is always late.”

She _tisked_ and started peeling potatoes faster than he had ever seen anyone peel anything. Maybe if she didn’t end up killing anyone they could keep her around for prep. The lady could get shit done.

“Have either of you seen Stammer?” Val asked, poking her head into the kitchen.

“No, why? What are you doing here so early?”

“Um, well. Kuch might have gotten arrested last night.”

“ _What!_ ” he shouted, dropping the wooden spoon he was holding.

“Apparently Anna has a jealous ex-boyfriend. He couldn’t really give me the details but, um, I don’t think he’ll be at work today.”

Yevgeniya _tisked_ again.


	11. Steven

The restaurant was a mess.

Which seemed fitting since the Lightning were also a mess, crashing into their final home stand on a four-game road losing streak. Steven scrolled through NHL.com, scowling.

“Hey boss,” Ryan said, right on time as always. “You need me to fill in for Kuch again?”

“Unless you have five-thousand dollars to go get him out of jail.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He minimized the website to reveal a very angry-looking spreadsheet. Steven had been fighting with the budget on and off for an hour now, trying to find something he’d typed in wrong. Because there was no way it was correct. There was no way that in just under a month, the budget had fallen back to looking this terrible. Nearly every other line was red.

They just weren’t making enough money.

Val burst through his office door then, hair unusually messy and cheeks flushed red. “Jason was in a car accident,” she said, taking deep breaths like she ran all the way in. “He’s fine but they took him to the hospital just to be safe. His car’s totaled.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Killer’s going to come in and cover for him. She’ll be here in like, fifteen minutes. Sorry I’m late.”

“Why isn’t Brandon covering for him? He’s the one on-call.”

“Bryelle’s sick.”

“Call Boyler, tell him he’ll need to take Killer’s bar shift tonight then. I can’t pay her any overtime.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Steven waited until the door had latched behind her before screaming into his fist. 

~

Shu was the next person to interrupt him, later that afternoon. “Stammer, I’m sorry but…there is a man who would like to see a manager.”

“Why?”

“To complain.”

“About what?” he forced out through gritted teeth.

“My service being too slow and the order being wrong. I’m so sorry, I was distracted. It’s all my fault. I didn’t mean to.”

Steven took a deep breath. “It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re going to make mistakes.”

“I tried to fix it myself but he kept talking over me. I know you’re stressed.”

“I’m not stressed. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

He thought maybe if he repeated it enough times out loud it would come true.

“Which table is he at?”

“Twenty-seven.”

Steven steeled himself and headed over to the man in question – mid-50s, balding, beer belly protruding from under his sky blue polo shirt. “Sir, my name is Steven Stamkos, I’m the owner here. Is there something I can take care of for you?”

“I wanted my burger medium rare with nothing but ketchup and cheese on it and he brought me a fully-dressed sandwich. I’m allergic to onions! And there are piles of them here.” He lifted the bun and pointed, just in case Steven wasn’t going to believe him. “I could have gone into shock! Your employee clearly doesn’t understand English very well, he could kill someone!”

Steven quickly stamped down on the anger that flared up at the customer’s words. “I’m so sorry, things can sometimes get mixed up in the back. I will make sure you get exactly what you ordered. While my chef prepares your meal, can I offer you a slice of pie on the house? Our pastry chef has really outdone himself today.”

“Fine,” the man huffed.

“Peach cobbler or rum cherry?”

“I don’t like cherries.”

“Then I will get you a slice of the peach.”

The customer grumbled something Steven would like to believe was a _thank you_ as he swept away the offending burger.

“Ben, I need a make-your-own, medium rare, with cheese _only_ ,” he said, dumping the plate into the trash in the kitchen. “Literally nothing else touches the bun.”

Ben looked up from checking an order. “Pally’s on the grill. He’s perfectly capable of making a kid’s burger.”

“It’s a redo for an adult male who has the palate of a six year old and likes his burgers still mooing. I need you to make it, please. And Heddy, I need you to take a slice of peach cobbler to table twenty-seven.”

“Ice cream or no?”

“I didn’t ask, just put it in a bowl on the side in case he’s lactose intolerant or something.”

Heddy delivered the pie with haste.

When Ben plated the plain burger with a side of fries, he pressed on the patty where Steven could see it give – a perfect medium rare.

“Lift the top bun, would you, I haven’t washed my hands.”

Ben did, surprisingly without rolling his eyes. Steven squirted ketchup all over the place. “Perfect.”

“People are disgusting,” Ben said.

Steven made the mistake of thinking the rest of the week would only go up from there.

 

* * *

 

On Tuesday, Steven stepped out of his office just before dinner time to find Ryan and Boyler huddled around their phones, talking in hushed whispers, facial expressions ranging from _someone just ran over my dog_ to _I’m going to murder the next person who looks at me_.

He wanted to ask if everything was okay, press his thumb into the wrinkle next to Ryan’s mouth and rub it away, make sure another impending disaster wasn’t about to blow up in his face. But he didn’t. He just crossed his fingers and went to check on his kitchen.

“--cking idiot, that’s why!” Pally was shouting, which was unusual enough, but Steven was even more shocked by the person his words were aimed at.

“What crawled up your ass and died? Jesus fucking Christ,” Johnny yelled back. “I’m sorry I put the wrong toppings on _one burger._ I will never do it again. You don’t have to berate me for ten minutes about it!”

“There’s a reason we check the ticket! You would have realized the mistake if you had just _checked the ticket_!”

“Okay guys. Whoa,” Steven interrupted. “Cut it out. What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t work with him right now,” Pally said, voice full of uncharacteristic distain.

“He’s being a fucking dick!” Johnny retaliated.

“How many shifts in a row have you worked?” Steven asked.

“Five!” Pally yelled, throwing his hands up. “And the past three have been with _him_ and I can’t keep having to cover up his mistakes!”

“You’re not fucking perfect, asshole.”

“Compared to you I look like god’s gift to hamburgers!”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “You’ve been pissed ever since I told you my parents were coming. If you’re so upset about it, just don’t come to dinner! I don’t give a shit!”

“This has nothing to do with your parents!” Pally shouted. “That is a whole different situation!”

“I’m sorry my mom thought something that wasn’t true and I failed to correct her. But that’s not _lying._ ”

“Yes, it is!” Pally slammed his fist onto a cutting board.

Jo, who had been cowering near the dishwasher, jumped at the noise and stepped in to move the large chef’s knife on Pally’s station away from the pair of them. Steven gave him a thumbs up. The last thing he needed was for one of them to inadvertently slice off a hand in rage.

Johnny got right up in Pally’s space, finger jabbing at his chest. “I asked you if it was going to be a big deal and you said no. So _fuck_ you for changing your mind.”

“Fuck you too,” Pally spat. “I’m taking my break.” He pushed past Steven, wadding up his apron as he went.

Johnny gripped the edge of the counter, head hanging down between his shoulders, whole body tense. The back of his neck was sweaty and red. 

Ryan chose that moment to join them. “Was that Pally that just came sprinting out of here?”

“Yes. I think I’m going to have Yevgeniya work a few extra shifts this week,” Steven decided on the spot.

“Great,” Johnny replied, measured. “I’ll be in the freezer. Let me know if we get a rush.”

Ryan checked the tickets that were already hanging and the order of boneless wings that hadn’t been picked up from the window yet. “From the look on your face, I’m going to guess you just saw something you never want to see again.”

“There used to be this server, Brett, that Johnny would get into it with sometimes, he can be hot-headed about certain things. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pally so…”

“Emotional?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t think someone put a curse on this place, do you?”

Jo scoffed into the pile of dirty dishes he was back to loading into the washer.

“If that was even remotely in the realm of possibilities,” Steven said. “I would one-hundred percent say yes.”

Ryan’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket. His face fell, mouth slowly turning into a frown the longer he looked at the small screen.

Steven wanted to ask what was wrong but before he worked up the nerve, Ryan had put it away and hung up the two tickets that had just come in.

“Need a little help?” he asked instead.

“How long do you think they’ll put themselves in time-out?”

“Who knows. Ben should be in soon either way. Wha’d’we got?”

“A Kubina and a Boucher, sub slaw, and a double-Thompson no lettuce add cheese. Chicken Caesar salad and an order of wings, honey barbecue.”

Steven washed his hands and got to work.

~

After Vladdy turned off the outside lights and the last few patrons filtered out into the humid night, Steven settled into his desk chair and relaxed. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples until he felt the wrinkles between his eyebrows smooth.

Ryan knocked on the open door. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Yeah, have a good night.”

“You too, Steve.”

No one called him Steve. He usually corrected them to Stammer or Steven. He never corrected Ryan.

He leaned over to pull the top left drawer of his desk open and take out the pair of tickets he purchased a few weeks ago on impulse – lower bowl, behind the bench, about ten rows up so they’d still be able to see all the action. They were perfect seats.

The game on Thursday would be a blowout. There was no way the Lightning would beat the Rangers the way both teams had been playing. The Rangers already locked up the division and hadn’t stopped demolishing their opponents since. It was pretty impressive considering their awful start to the season, which he would never admit out loud.

It was his way of making the first move. He wasn’t sure how often Ryan got to go to games when he lived in New York since Madison Square Garden was such a pricey ticket. Thought maybe it would be fun. Thought maybe he could warm Ryan to the idea of making out on his couch for an indeterminate amount of time by buttering him up with hockey first. But now it didn’t really matter.

There was no way both of them could take off the same night with the staff situation looking the way it did.

He stuffed the tickets back in his desk and headed home.

 

* * *

 

On Wednesday, Steven hadn’t had time to finish his coffee before the day went sour.

“Heddy’s sick,” Johnny said immediately as he walked through the door.

“No he’s not,” he replied. “Heddy’s never sick.”

“He’s sick today.”

“How sick?”

Johnny glared at him.

“I can make cake,” Yevgeniya said from her perch on one of the bar stools. “All kinds. Not so good at pies. But can try, if need.”

Steven walked over and hugged her. “Cakes would be lovely. You’re lovely. Thank you for being so lovely, Yevgeniya.”

“I think I put you out of misery from say my name now. Call me Nabby.”

“Do I really say it that terribly?” he asked.

“Yes. Very bad.”

Steven released her from the hug to find she was smiling brightly. It looked good on her.

“We get through day. Is fine. Almost game night.” She hopped off the stool and headed for the kitchen, tying her thin hair up as she went. “Tomorrow is better.”

Johnny was staring, mouth hanging open a little. “She was trolling us,” he said. “This whole time.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve never seen that woman smile in the entire time she’s been here. I didn’t think she even knew _how_.”

“Of course she knows how.”

“You try and say that again after you watch her butcher fifty chickens without blinking.”

“Come, little one!” Nabby shouted, muffled slightly by the swinging kitchen door. “Chop chop!”

Steven had to hold himself up on the bar he laughed so hard.

~

Despite being down two in the kitchen and two on the floor, by the time the dinner crowd showed up everything was running smoothly. Nabby’s cakes were a hit and Vasy was picking things up well enough that Ben had time to corner Steven in his office.

“Did you give him the tickets yet?”

“I’m not giving him the tickets.”

“What? Why?”

“There’s no way we’d both be able to take tomorrow off, not with so many people out. I’d feel bad leaving you all like that.”

“We would be much happier if you went on a romantic hockey date with Cally. _So much happier._ ”

“It’s not gonna happen.”

“Uh, boss?” Ceddy said, popping his head in. “A party of like, fifteen guys just walked in.”

“Shit,” Ben hissed, rushing back to the kitchen.

“Wow, okay. Uh, I’m sure there’s enough tables to push together, right?”

“Yeah, Stralsy and Val are already rock-paper-scissoring for who takes them. I just thought you might want to seat them yourself.” He was barely containing a smile by the end of his dialogue.

Steven was highly suspicious. “What's going on?”

“Just come look.”

So Steven followed Ceddy back to the front of house in time to see Boyler squat down out of sight behind the bar with wide eyes. He looked _stunned._

“What’s wrong with--.”

“Come on.”

The group of guys waiting to be sat were not your average dudes. They were all carrying muscle like they spent half their day in the gym and ate nothing but protein powder. And they were tall, so tall. Steven noticed the redhead first, thought he kind of looked like one of the Staal brothers…

“Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath, stopping dead in his tracks. He _was_ one of the Staal brothers.

“Hey boss,” Ryan said, coming into view. “Thought you’d be hiding in your offi--.”

Steven forcibly turned Ryan around to face the group of New York Rangers that had just entered their establishment. “Anyone look familiar to you?”

Ryan stiffened in his grip, inhaling a sharp breath to hold. This was so much better than just taking him to the game.

“Ryan?” the one with the chiseled jaw and baby blue eyes said, stepping away from the group.

“D-Danny?”


	12. Ryan

_What the fuck._

Ryan felt Steven’s hands loosen on his arms, felt the warm presence of him step away from where he had been pressed against his back. He wanted to retreat to him, wanted to grab him and pull him in front of himself like a shield against everything that just showed up. Everything he never thought he’d see again outside of a television.

_What the fuck._

Danny was smiling and his eyes were bright and his hair was longer than what he remembered and he was stepping closer to wrap him in a hug. Ryan exhaled against his shoulder. He still wore the same cologne. It smelled so fucking good.

“You know one of the New York Rangers?” Steven said, stunned, somewhere behind him.

The hug probably gave it away. At this point, there was no way to swing it besides the truth. “I know most of the New York Rangers,” he said, breaking Danny’s hold. “I’m sorry I never told you.”

But Steven didn’t look upset or betrayed, he was visibly beaming with the new knowledge. Because he didn’t know what that meant, he had no idea.

“Uh, let me introduce everybody.” 

He went down the line – Danny and Marc and DZ and Sean and Steps and Prusty and –

“Where’s Boyler?” Steven asked, practically bouncing. “He would die if he knew Brandon Prust was here.”

Ryan cringed when Prusty’s face lit up.

“ _Boyler_? Are you two still working together?” he asked with that sleazy smile that usually got him punched in the face on and off the ice. “Oh man, where is he? I’ve missed that asshole.”

If Brian had any sense, he’d be out back hiding by the dumpster.

“He should be behind the bar,” Steven said, pointing. “I don’t see him, though. This is so cool. Seriously, why would you keep this a secret?”

Ryan’s mouth went dry but he forced out a shrug and an eyebrow raise.

“How did you guys even end up here?” Ceddy asked. “We’re not that close to the arena.”

“Richie said he knew a good burger place, that his buddy used to own it.” Danny indicated the one face Ryan didn’t immediately recognize. “And we’re not a group that turns down red meat very often.”

“It looks a little different from the last time Vinny brought me here,” Richie said. “But I’m sure the burgers are still amazing.”

Vinny. That was one of the owners that sold the place to Steven. Because he was moving to New York to be with his partner who got transferred from…oh.

_What the fuck._

Steven was practically vibrating with joy as he offered his hand to Richie with a smile. “I’m Steven, the guy Vinny sold it to.”

“I knew he was leaving it in very capable hands.”

After that, the awkwardness of introductions settled into following Steven to the tables that had been pushed together and ordering a massive amount of food and beer.

“Hey, come sit with us,” Danny said, grabbing Ryan around the wrist.

“I can’t.” He pulled free of his grip. “I have to work.”

The kitchen, when he arrived, looked like it was under siege – Vasy was staring horrified at the one long ticket Val had just put in, Ben was sweating over the grill, Pally looked murderous. Ryan opened his mouth to tell them not to be so worried about it but was practically tackled to the ground before he got the chance.

“You didn’t make them _leave_?” Brian hissed in his face, big hands gripped tightly in his shirt.

Ryan flicked his eyes to Ben, completely focused on the fifteen burgers he just threw on. “This isn’t the place to do this. Go say hi.”

“I don’t want to say hi.”

“Do it anyway.”

Brian’s face fell. “Stammer doesn’t know, does he?”

“Oh sure, like you’ve told Ben you used to ban--.”

Brian slapped a hand over Ryan’s mouth.

“Could use help, maybe?” Vasy said, ducking under the window to make sure they knew he was talking to them.

Ryan pushed Brian’s arm away. “Go say hi.”

“This is going on my top ten list of Worst Things to Ever Happen Unexpectedly,” Brian mumbled as he, presumably, did as he was told.

_What the fuck._

~

Ryan stayed in the kitchen as long as he could, picked up the slack as everyone took their turn going out to the dining room to ogle at the hockey players. He even offered to clean the grill once it hit midnight.

“I’ve got it,” Pally said, really throwing his back into scraping it down.

Ryan knew the guys had paid their bill (DZ lost the credit card lottery) but there was something settling in his gut that made him believe they were still out there.

Or at least, that Danny was still out there.

And sure as shit, the last of the servers were all sitting at one of the tables with him. Prusty had moved to the bar to chat with Brian as he finished washing up. They both looked relaxed, completely comfortable in the other’s space.

_Must be nice._

But it made sense. They were never in love like he and Danny were.

“Cally!” Val shouted. “Get over here before Danny spills any more embarrassing stories about you!”

Ryan’s mouth flooded with saliva. There was no way Danny’s stories hadn’t given something away. When he got excited or happy or wistful it was always written all over his face. Their relationship was probably written _all over his face_. “They’re all lies,” he yelled back, swallowing down the urge to vomit.

“I haven’t told them about the day we met, yet,” Danny said, leaning back a little in his chair.

“It’s not very interesting,” he replied, pushing past the sudden lump in his throat.

“He was wearing a Sabres jersey, for starters.”

“They had just kicked your ass,” he reminded. Danny always knew how to play into his competitiveness.  

“They had. And he was so impassioned about it, like – gave me a whole scouting breakdown of what we did wrong. I had to buy him a drink just to hear him get everything off his chest.”

Ryan smiled then, just a little. It was a good memory, despite everything. “I eventually got to their defensive problems.”

“Tore me a new one.”

“You deserved it.”

“The look on your face when I finally told you my name, though. He made me show him my ID.”

The table laughed.

“I can’t believe you used to be a Sabres fan,” Val said. “That’s so gross.”

“He changed his allegiance pretty quickly after that night,” Danny said, smug grin half-hidden behind his beer. And there it was, everything out in the open all over his stupid fucking face.

Ryan’s body went hot and he hoped the dim lighting hid the fact that he was blushing at the memory of what exactly happened after the bar had closed. They were so dumb back then.

“How long ago was that?” Stralsy asked, seemingly not noticing anything.

“It was my first full season in the NHL so, what, four years ago?”

“Around there,” Ryan agreed. He didn’t offer up the exact date of the game in question because it would be weird that he still remembered it. Danny’s face settled into something fond, like he knew what he was thinking anyway.

“You’re not a Tampa fan already, are you?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Ceddy said. “Stammer’s determined, though. It won’t be long.”

“Where is Stammer, anyway?” Stralsy asked. “He said he was going to the bathroom twenty minutes ago.”

“I saw him go into the office,” Brian offered from behind the bar.

“He never stops working,” Val said. “Sit down, Cally. Tell us some dirt on these guys.”

“Don’t you have a curfew?” he asked, still standing. He knew it was well after when they should’ve been back at the hotel.

“Yes.”

“You aren’t worried coach is gonna bench you?”

Danny laughed softy, setting his empty beer bottle on the table. “Still looking out for me, eh?”

“Habit, I guess.”

“Yeah.” He stood and stretched his arms overhead, his shirt ridding up just enough to show the band of his boxers and a little strip of skin above it. “Come on, Prusty. We gotta get back.”

“You two coming to the game tomorrow night?” he asked, scribbling his signature on the tab Brian printed.

“Working,” Ryan said quickly. “We’re short-staffed. Game nights are pretty busy.”

“Really?” Danny asked, clearly disbelieving.

“Sure.”

“Didn’t know that many people cared about Florida hockey.”

“They’ve won the Cup.”

Danny’s smile was genuine, he could tell by the way only one side of his mouth curved up. “It was good to see you, Ry.”

Ryan’s spine sizzled at the nickname and he didn’t lean into the half-hug Danny offered. “Yeah.” He wondered if Danny could tell his smile was fake.

It didn’t matter though, once they left and the door latched tightly behind them. Ryan felt like his strings had been cut as he tumbled into a chair near the table.

“Way to leave us in the dark there, stud,” Val said, clutching a napkin Danny had signed.

“What do you mean?”

“Um, your ex is smoking hot.”

He winced. “How do you know he’s my ex?”

“I would’ve assumed you were still long-distance banging if I didn’t know how in love you are with Stammer.”

“I’m not in…” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh come on. Seriously? It’s so _obvious_.”

“Go home,” Brian said. “All of you, shoo. I wanna count down the registers sometime before one.”

Val, Stralsy, and Ceddy all dutifully tipped-out and clocked-out.

“You okay?” Brian asked, once they were alone.

Ryan shrugged. “I guess.”

“You don’t look okay.”

“It just caught me off guard.”

“Yeah.” Brian stacked up the last of the clean pint glasses.

“Are _you_ okay?” Ryan asked, picking at a hangnail.

“He’s got himself a girl, now.”

“No shit.”

“She’s hot. Way too good for him.”

“Never would have guessed that one.”

“Suppose he didn’t want to spoil the memory of my dick with anyone else’s.”

Ryan smiled. “Oh, sure. I’ve seen your dick. It’s not that great.”

“It’s not about how long it is,” Brian quoted. “It’s how you use it.”

Ben shuffled out of the kitchen then, planting a kiss on Brian’s cheek. “What are you guys talking about?”

“My dick.”

He blushed so fiercely it was adorable.

“Ben has enough length to make up for it anyway.”

“Aaaand we’re leaving,” Ben said, pulling Brian towards the door.

“Okay, okay,” he said between laughs. “You sure you’re good, Ryan?”

He flapped at him. “I’m fine. Get outta here. Put those dicks to good use.”

“You should check on Stammer before you go.” He pointed firmly in the direction of the office, door tightly shut.

Yeah.

Ryan sat in the empty restaurant for another five minutes, another ten minutes, another fifteen minutes just to see if Steven would come out on his own, but the door to the office didn’t crack.

He knocked softly before pushing in. 

Steven was sitting at his desk with the lamp turned off; the glare of the computer screen made him look cold. Ryan settled in the chair across from him.

“Hey.”

“Danny seems nice.”

“I didn’t know they’d show up here.”

“You didn’t tell me you dated pro hockey players.”

 _Shit, shit, shit._ “It’s not really the line I like to lead with. And it was just the one.”

Steven leaned over to reach into one of the drawers of his desk and threw a pair of tickets on top of last week’s food truck order receipt.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the game tomorrow,” he said, voice still light and conversational. It put Ryan off, made him slide to the edge of his seat.

“But it seems kind of stupid now. I’m sure you’ve been to more games than you can count.”

_But none of those were with you._

Steven huffed, some half-laugh that sounded mean. “I actually thought you might not have been able to go to MSG much. That maybe it would be a treat to see them live.”

Ryan never wanted to put that pained look on Steven’s face ever again.

“I can’t compete with an NHL player,” he said, resigned.

_You don’t have to._

“He’s gorgeous, by the way.”

 _He’s got nothing on you._ “I really didn’t know they’d show up.”

“Is he why you left New York?” Steven’s face looked so sincere when he asked.

“No.” He said it before his brain could stop him. It wasn’t true. He was lying. Danny was almost entirely the reason he left New York. But it was so much easier to lie.

“Is he why you haven’t made a move on me?”

“I like to take things slow.”

“I don’t date co-workers.”

“But you were gonna ask me to a hockey game.”

“Rules are made to be broken.”

_No they’re not. Rules are there to protect people._

“You can tell me if you’re not over him, yet,” Steven continued. “I’d understand.”

 _Help me forget about him._ “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“It just…still hurts sometimes,” he confessed.

“We wouldn’t have been able to take the night off anyway.” Steven picked up the tickets and shut them back in the drawer.

“Right.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ryan knew when he was being dismissed. “Goodnight, boss.”


	13. Ben

“You gonna tell me what that was all about tonight?” Ben asked, watching Brian brush his teeth at the sink.

“Oh you saw that, huh?” He spit and leaned over to wipe his mouth on the hand towel.

“You’re gonna get toothpaste all over that. People are going to think it’s jizz.”

“I can probably put some on there to distract them from the toothpaste if you want.”

“Asshole.” He ripped the towel off the hook and tossed it in the laundry basket.

“Are you mad?” Brian asked.

It kind of took Ben by surprise how worried he sounded when the joking and bravado was stripped away. “No, I’m not mad.”

Brian smirked, moving to cradle Ben’s hips in his smooth palms, backing him up until he hit the shower door. “You jealous?”

“No.” But Ben knew the waver in his voice betrayed him.

“You sure?”

“No.”

Brian huffed and pressed a kiss to the side of Ben’s head. “You’re way hotter than Brandon Prust.”

“There’s no way that’s true.”

“Mmmm, you’ve got a better ass.” He slipped his hands down to cup the ass in question. “And a prettier smile.” He kissed the corner of Ben’s mouth. “I like the freckles on your back, right along your spine.” He ran the tip of his nose along the crest of his shoulder. “And those breathy little moans you start making when you’re about to come.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Ben’s whole body had turned to butter. “God, you’re horrible.”

Brian rocked his hips, pressing them both against the shower.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Ben said, as firm as he could with Brian’s lips currently mapping out his jaw. “But I kind of want to mark you up so everyone knows you’re mine. Is that weird?”

“Definitely not.”

“Okay, great,” he said, gripping the back of Brian’s neck to pull him into a proper kiss.

 

* * *

 

Ben woke up with the warm, heavy weight of Brian on top of him, his face tucked up under Ben’s chin. He was still breathing rhythmically in sleep, eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks. Ben wanted to brush his fingertip along them but he knew it would make him twitch awake. He settled for smoothing his thumb across one of his thick eyebrows and smiled at the little puff of air he exhaled.

There was a bruise just on the edge of his collarbone from where Ben had arched up and latched on. It wouldn’t stay long, wasn’t very dark, but it settled something in Ben to see it on Brian’s skin – the mark that his mouth made.

There should be another one on his inner thigh, too. But that was just for Ben.

“I can feel you thinking.”

He smiled when Brian shifted to get his arm tighter around his waist and tug him closer, rolling them so their positions switched. Ben braced himself on one hand and leaned down to lick over the mark.

“Sleep.”

“It’s already after ten,” he whispered against Brian’s skin.

He wiggled around some more, slid his palms up the line of Ben’s spine and pulled him flush against his chest. “Sleep.”

“Or I could make coffee.”

Brian scrunched his forehead in thought. “And bacon?”

“All I have is turkey bacon.”

“ _Heathen_.”

“It’s better for you.”

“But it tastes terrible.”

Ben unwrapped himself from Brian’s limbs and pulled on the nearest pair of shorts – they were definitely not his. He cinched the drawstring tighter and headed for the kitchen.

He brewed the coffee strong and dug around behind his organic granola and bran flakes for the box of Lucky Charms Brian had smuggled into the cabinet.

He was sitting up against the headboard when Ben went back and quickly reached for one of the mugs he had balanced on the edge of the big bowl with two spoons.

“Food service really helps with this sort of thing, eh?”

“Mhmm.” Ben settled in his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, and took a huge spoonful of cereal.

“One day you’re gonna let me fatten you up with real bacon and things like non-whole wheat pancakes.”

“Sounds unlikely.”

Ben waited until Brian’s mouth was full of mostly marshmallows before he said, “Tell me about Brandon and Danny.”

“I haven’t had enough caffeine for this,” he said, sipping from his mug.

“Brian…”

He put the coffee down with a soft _clink_ and shifted around until Ben scooted higher on his lap. He wrapped both arms tightly around him and let out a long breath.

“Okay. Danny and Ryan met like, four years ago after a game in Buffalo that he had scored tickets to. Obviously, we went out afterwards to celebrate because the Sabres totally crushed the Rangers. Which was amazing.”

“You were a Sabres fan?”

“I was a Bruins fan. But that’s another story.”

Ben fed him another spoonful of cereal and tried not to picture him in Boston colors.

“They hooked up and Danny kept in touch with him throughout the rest of the season. And then the weekend after the Wings won the Cup, he packed up and drove six fucking hours to stay in some ritzy hotel that Danny booked for them and they didn’t leave the room the whole time. It was really disgusting how crazy they were about each other.”

“That sounds romantic.”

Brian chuckled and opened up for another spoonful.

“So they do the long-distance thing for like, two years, or whatever. And then one day Ryan comes home from seeing him with the brilliant idea to move to New York City and open a bar. Which, obviously he was in love, wanted to be closer to Danny, and it was the least ridiculous reason he could think of to move.”

“You don’t just move to a city like New York and open a bar.”

“Which is what I told him. However.” He paused to chew another bite. “He said Danny knew of this really cool place that was about to go out of business and they were looking to sell. That it wasn’t very big, blah blah blah, and that he’d help Ryan buy it from them.”

“Oh shit.”

“So fast-forward another two years, we’ve been running this bar that has Danny’s name on the lease and doing pretty well. We’ve managed to get a reputation for having heavy pours and a really great game day atmosphere, sometimes got local bands to come in and play. So we’re not hurting for money. And Ryan and Danny were still so grossly in love which, four years will do that to you. I swear to god the amount of times I walked in on them banging was absurd.”

“But then the kitchen burned down.”

Brian held up a finger. “Slow down.” He took a gulp of his coffee and wiggled again to redistribute Ben’s weight. “ _Before_ the kitchen burned down, Ryan finally worked up the nerve to buy Danny a ring.”

“Oh no,” Ben said around half-chewed cereal.

“So he took him out, right before the season started, to one of the nice hipster steakhouses they both liked that had craft beer and laid his entire heart on the table.”

“And Danny stabbed it with a steak knife.”

“Right. Because the thing about being a defenseman for the New York Rangers is you have an extreme lack of privacy. And Danny wasn’t ready to be engaged to a man for all the world to see.”

Ben felt his chest tighten just imagining the type of conversation Ryan and Danny had that night.

“It was one thing to sneak around the press by hanging out in public groups and going on double dates that just looked like four dudes hanging out. But marriage? Ryan thought they’d move in together, start a real life together. And Danny just couldn’t do that. He had his rules for himself and Ryan had asked him to break every single one.”

Ben put the bowl of cereal on the nightstand by Brian’s coffee. “And all this just happened five months ago?”

“The bar burned down a month later and that was the last straw.”

Ben didn’t really know what to say. It was a lot worse than he expected.

“So one night when we were both wasted on one of the nice bottles of whisky they were able to salvage from the place, he told me to close my eyes and point to somewhere on a map and that’s where he’d run away to. Which was funny because he thought I wasn’t gonna go with him.”

“But what about you and Brandon?” he asked, poking at the bare skin of Brian’s hip just barely visible above the sheet.

“I met him through Ryan just after we moved to the City. Along with most of the other guys. We fucked around for a while. It was never anything serious, we just liked to hook up. Sometimes he’d bring a girl to my place and we’d all have a good time. Sometimes I’d bring a random guy home while he was away on a road trip. It was casual and definitely nothing close to exclusive.”

“Threesomes, huh?”

Brian smiled. “There was this one girl – natural brunette, super long legs, so totally out of our leagu--.”

Ben pressed his fingers into Brian’s mouth. “As much as I love the honesty you’re giving me. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear about the wild threesome sex you had with your ex. Keep going with the main story.”

Brian sucked at his fingers a little as he pulled them free, flicking the point of his tongue against the tip of one. Ben wiped the slobber on his chest. Sex was not happening until he got to the end.

“So he wanted to run away,” Brian said. “Which, fine. He can run away. But Ryan and I have been friends since middle school, I wasn’t about to let him run away to Florida with a freshly shattered heart alone. We’d done everything together for so long it just…it felt right to pack up and haul ass somewhere to start over.”

“Such a softy under all that muscle.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” He wiggled his fingers into Ben’s side, eliciting an embarrassing hoot of laughter.

“Stop, stop, staaaahp.” He got his breathing back under control and slapped Brian on the shoulder. “Jerk.”

“The reason last night was so dramatic,” Brian continued. “Was that we didn’t really tell anyone we were leaving. Brandon and I had kept in touch a little – mostly hockey talk. It kind of stopped around Christmas. But, uh, sometimes he’d ask me about Ryan and I knew he was fishing for Danny.”

“They haven’t talked at all?”

“I think Danny’s texted him, especially early on. But I don’t think Ryan’s ever responded. He didn’t tell me, if he did. I should’ve known they’d show up when I got a text from Brandon a couple days ago.”

“Do you think he’ll tell Steven?”

Brian shrugged. “He probably should. So at least he doesn’t keep leading the poor guy on.”

“Wait, _what_?” Ben said, startled. “Ryan isn’t into Steven?”

“Oh no, he’s completely into Steven. Like, so grossly into him. You should’ve heard him wax poetic about him early on. He thought he was being subtle but he would _not_ shut up about the dude.”

“I’m confused.”

Brian sat up straighter and Ben knew he was in for a lesson. “In the entire time I have known Ryan and called him my best friend,” he said, face very serious. “I have never seen him make a move. I’ve heard him talk about exactly what move he would make, if he was the type of guy who made moves, and they’re great ideas. Seriously, he’s _such_ a romantic. But in the length of time it would take him to work up the nerve to actually _do it_ , the guy of his affections had already asked him to dinner and sucked his dick. It’s just ridiculous.”

“And then proposed to Danny and got rejected.”

“Which probably sucked him back in his romantic turtle shell.”

“Steven was going to ask him to the game tonight.”

Brian cringed. “That’s not gonna go over well. Certainly not now that Danny showed up out of the blue.”

“Would he have said yes if Danny hadn’t showed up?”

“I honestly don’t know. He’s kept hockey at a distance since…”

Ben sighed and folded himself forward to rest his head on Brian’s shoulder.

“If anyone can break Ryan out of this though, it’s gonna be Stammer.”

“You think?”

“He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, he really is.”

Brian nuzzled a spot behind Ben’s ear, rubbing his hands across the muscles of his lower back. Ben snuggled up closer, tracing absent patterns on the skin across his ribs. “That all really sucks.”

“It’s just going to take some time. I’m not sure if last night set him back any.”

“Steven really likes him. Even if he won’t say it, he does. He really, really does.”

“They’ll figure it out.”

Ben kissed him, soft and lingering and just a little bit breathless. “Even if it was terrible, I’m glad you guys ended up here.”

“Are you still jealous?” Brian asked, lighting up.

“I’m still not convinced I have the better ass.”

“I mean, I thought I made a pretty solid case for it last night.”

“I might need to see the demonstration again,” he said, flicking one of Brian’s nipples because he could be an asshole, too. “Just to be absolutely sure I understand what you’re saying.”

“You sure you’ve got time for the full experience?” He slipped the barest tips of his fingers below the band of the shorts Ben was wearing.

“Nabby’s working. I’m not worried about it.”

He shoved him off his lap and Ben giggled, bouncing a little on the mattress. Brian leaned over, boxing him in, and swallowed his laugher with a kiss.

~

“You’re late,” Johnny scolded when Ben rolled into the kitchen. “Kuch-level late. Vasy’s been panicking.”

“Have not,” the lanky Russian said from their shared station.

“Oh my god, is that a hickey?!” Johnny screeched, rushing over to pull Ben’s collar down. “It _is_. Were you late because you were getting _laid_?”

Ben shrugged and tried willing himself not to blush. He wasn’t sure it worked. “I do have a boyfriend, y’know.”

“Ack.” Johnny waved him away. “It’s not as good as Heddy’s, as far as hickeys go.”

“Not a competition.” Ben noticed Heddy’s clean station. “He’s still out sick?”

“Yeah. I think he’s got some kind of plague.”

“Lovely.”

A ticket came in and Vasy tucked it up on the window.

“You wanna call it?” Ben asked.

“Okay.” He cleared his throat. “One Boucher, medium, uh, sub onion rings and one…chicken Purcell no mayo.”

Ben gave him a good game butt tap. The kid was going to be fine in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon the continuity error - initially I had Ryan and Brian owning a bar in Rochester before realizing that wasn't really gonna work. Consider the bar transplanted to NYC. Oops.


	14. Victor

He was dying.

That was all Victor could think about after two nights of hacking up the draining snot from his sinuses and barely holding down enough water not to shrivel up like a prune. His body felt equally like a desert and a phlegmy, bacteria-ridden pond.

Stralsy had been over this morning to drop off some medicine and green tea, which was amazing. But by one o’clock, all of that kindness was wearing off.

He debated the possibility of hedging off the next round of aches and pains with a nap when his doorbell rang. And as god was his witness, he was going to get that fucking thing removed.

It chimed again.

“Fuck,” he groaned, half of the sounds not even fully projecting. “Fuck whoever the fuck you are.”

His cell rang, also loud and piercing and completely unnecessary.

_Val_

There was not a single person on the planet he wanted to talk to less than Val.

 _I have cough medicine_ , she texted after he didn’t pick up. _The good shit._

Victor held his breath in hopes of staving off the coughing fit that was starting to scratch in his throat. She rang the doorbell one more time.

“Fine, _fine_. I’m coming,” he hissed, rolling himself out of bed, still wrapped tightly in his biggest, thickest blanket. It barely reached his knees as he walked to the door.

He didn’t have it open very far before Val slipped through and started giving orders.

“Go lay back down. I’m bringing you a dose of this stuff and a bottle of water.”

He glared at her as she moved around his kitchen, once again, like she knew exactly where everything was. Like her presence here was natural. He wondered slowly back to his bed where everything was dark and covered in tissues.

His stupid memory flashed back to the last time Val was here, in his house. In his bed. “Fuck.”

“Okay, take this,” she said, holding out a closed fist and a bottle of water to him. “And then you can have the cough syrup.”

He accepted the pain killers and water and then finally the syrup which tasted like artificial grape but coated his throat nonetheless. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Someone has to take care of you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like someone ran you over with a bus.”

“It’s quite possible they have.”

“That stuff’s going to knock you out. So I’m going to clean up while you nap.”

“Just go,” he sighed, waving a hand from under the blanket he was still wrapped in. “Please go.”

“No.”

“Val…”

“Shut up, we’re not talking until you take a nap.”

“Talk? What are we talking about?”

“Later.”

The cough medicine wasn’t working quickly enough. But he settled back into bed, facing away from the door, and pulled the covers up under his ears. He could hear Val loudly shaking out a trash bag in the distance and flipped his pillow to the cool side, weakly punching it into shape.

Eventually the droop of his eyelids tugged him toward sleep.

~

He woke up to find there was still a dim light trying to claw its way through his tightly shut blinds. He was hoping he’d sleep until well after the sun went down. But honestly anything was better than the tossing and turning and hacking up a lung he did last night.

He rolled over and felt the disgusting glob of whatever settle in his chest and immediately started coughing it all up.

“Jesus, you really are pathetic when you’re sick. I thought Stralsy was being dramatic when he told me.”

He had totally forgotten about Val. Possibly thought he dreamt her.

“Go lay on the couch so I can change the sheets in here.”

“I am not,” he said between coughs. “Going to let you.” _Cough, cough, cough_. “Touch anything in this room.”

“I could so easily overpower you right now,” she replied, sticking her hip out. “It wouldn’t even be any fun.”

Victor wanted to smother himself with his blanket and refused to think about Val overpowering him in _any_ state.

“Seriously, get up. When was the last time you ate?”

“Does tea count as eating?” His stomach grumbled right on cue.

“Okay, no. Lemme change the sheets and then I’ll make you lunch.”

“You’ll burn my house down,” he grumbled.

“Oh please. I am a master of the grilled cheese.”

She rushed him out of the room once he was standing. Any and all words he could have said died on the tip of his tongue with the click of the door being shut in his face.

The table by the couch, he discovered, was cleaned off as was the space around the trash can that had been covered in his missed attempts at throwing away his tissues. Oh fuck him. He was disgusting and greasy and _Val_ was here picking up after him like he was a _child._

He had another mild coughing fit and smashed his face into a couch cushion.

“Alright,” she announced, racing back toward the kitchen. “I also brought some of the daytime cough medicine, so you don’t just pass out again. Maybe take a double dose.”

“Isn’t that not good?”

“I do it all the time. It’s fine.”

He didn’t think that was the greatest testimonial but he shot back the orange flavored syrup once and then again. “Why does all of this medicine have to taste like death?”

“I think the grape one’s delicious.”

Victor scrunched his face in disgust. “You’re joking.”

He thought he heard her giggle from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen. It was quickly covered up by the clanging of a pan and many drawers opening and closing until she, he assumed, found whatever it was she was looking for.

“Seriously?” she yelled, holding up the bag of extremely white bread.

“Guilty pleasure.”

“Bish would be appalled.”

“He would. You’re right,” he grumbled, wrapping his blanket tighter and tucking his knees up so his feet were covered. He needed to get his mom to knit something his size. Maybe for Christmas.

“Here.” Val leaned over the back of the couch to hold out a thermometer, one of the skinny old-fashioned ones that probably still used mercury. “Take your temp.”

“Where did you find that?” he asked, not moving.

“My house. I even soaked it in peroxide first. Just take it.” She wiggled it closer to his face. “Or I’ll shove it under your tongue myself.”

Val might be the most violent caretaker Victor had ever dealt with. He stuck the thermometer in his mouth and huffed.

“Three minutes.”

 _Three minutes._ The exact amount of time to let a rack of lamb rest before slicing, he thought.

But, as it turned out, Victor didn’t have to time himself. Val returned carrying a plate, which she swapped out for the stick.

“Nothing crazy,” she diagnosed. “You probably broke any major fever you had last night.”

“How can you even read that thing?”

“Eat your sandwich.”

He’s not proud of the fact that he audibly groaned at the first bite. The thing was gushing with cheese; she must’ve put more than two slices on. It was amazing.

Val finally sat down, placing another water bottle on the table for him and folding her legs up to make herself small.

There was plenty of room on the couch for the pair of them, the way Victor was curled up under his blanket, but part of him was glad they weren’t any closer. He waited until he scarfed down the first half of his lunch before speaking.

“Thank you.”

She shrugged. “It’s what friends do.”

“Is that what we are?” he asked. “Friends?”

And if he thought she had been small before, it was nothing compared to the way she looked now – arms crossed over her chest, head tilted down and away. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He felt like shit. “That came out…wrong.”

“I mean, it’s true. We’re not friends. Not like me and Alex or Nikki. I know you because we work together but we don’t even work in the same part of the restaurant.”

“But you still came to check on me.”

“You’re never sick.” She said it like an excuse. “And Stralsy said you were pathetic.”

Victor rolled his eyes. “I’m not dying.”

“No, you’re not.”

He started on the other half of his sandwich, getting a few bites in before he started wheezing a little.

“Look,” she said, serious. “Uh, Stralsy wasn’t exactly the only one who told me to come see you. Alex knows what’s going on in my head. She knows exactly how I felt when I saw you…whatever…and she knows that I, um, I don’t talk about this stuff easily. But she made me promise to do it anyways.”

Victor didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t make a single sound. He just held the grilled cheese halfway to his mouth and waited.

“So here I am, practically breaking into your house _again_ , cornering you into listening to me…” She sighed heavily and he thought it sounded watery. “I’m such a disaster, Victor. But sometimes you look at me like I’m perfect.”

Something caught in his throat and he coughed. Val startled, folding in on herself even more. He drank the water she left on the table and then it was silent again.

“I kind of got addicted to it, the way you look at me. And I didn’t expect to be… _jealous_ ,” she spit out the word like it was disgusting. “But you’re not like other guys. I know how they look at me and it’s not the same for you.” It was barely a whisper, hardly even leaving her lips, but he heard it.

“You’re not like other girls.”

She huffed and wiped something from her cheek. “You could have anyone you wanted but then sometimes I catch you watching…I don’t understand why you want _me_.”

Victor had known he liked Val the moment he saw her, sweeping into _Puck_ with her long blonde hair and wide smile and a laugh that fucking _twinkled._ He was absolutely done for the first time she introduced herself, just moved down from Michigan, so excited to be somewhere warm. He couldn’t stop himself from falling for her the first time they went out to a bar after a shift and he watched her dance everyone off the floor. He had never met someone like her, someone so bright he couldn’t look away.

“If you didn’t know,” he said. “If it wasn’t such a well-known secret how I felt about you. Would you have even seen me at all?”

Val opened her mouth but her reply was cut off by the chorus of _Call Me Maybe_. She rubbed her eyes before she stood up to dig her cell out of her back pocket. Her face lit up when she saw the caller’s name. “Oh my god, it’s Kuch. Hello?”

She rushed out of view, staying close enough that Victor could eavesdrop on her part of the conversation. He tried to stuff the rest of his sandwich in his face as quickly as he could.

_“Yeah, I’m actually downtown right now…yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can…of course…I was so worried, you asshole…yes, okay…okay bye.”_

“Kuch made bail,” she said, flying through the living room. “I’ve gotta go pick him up, like, right now.”

“What?” he asked around a rudely large bite. He moved to sit up but Val pushed him back into the couch.

“Take another dose of the grape stuff in like, two hours, okay? And drink all of the bottles of water in your fridge. All of them. I’m trusting you with my thermometer, take your temp before you take the cough meds and then again when you wake up tonight. And,” she paused, taking a moment to breathe. “Take a shower. Your hair is so sad, it will thank me.”

Victor thought she probably needed to write all of that down but he nodded and purposefully didn’t grab onto her hand where it was still pressed to his chest. He felt the warmth of her touch well after she breezed out of his house.

That was a fucking disaster.

 

* * *

 

He took two doses of the purple cough syrup and didn’t wake up until the next morning – still slightly full of snot but no longer feeling bad enough to mope around his house wrapped in a blanket. The place probably needed to be aired out. _He_ probably needed to be aired out.

He had showered last night, like Val told him to, but his hair looked gross again. Like he’d just run three miles in the middle of summer.

And his phone was blinking – four texts.

_Did you take the meds?_

_Were going to finish that convo btw i promise_

_Im going to assume youre asleep and not dead in your own sickness_

_Meeting tonight at 11, can u make it?_

The last one was from Stammer and had come in this morning. There wasn’t a game tonight so he knew the restaurant would probably be dead by nine-thirty. It was still odd to call a meeting that late; it made something in Victor stand up and take notice.

_I’ll try my best. Feeling better tho._

_Not dead_ , he sent to Val.

She sent back a winking emoji. Victor had no idea what that meant.

~

The parking lot of _Puck_ was empty when Victor got there. The back lot was equally sparse – just Stammer’s run down BMW and Bish’s SUV. There was a red Honda in the spot he usually parked in.

The kitchen was quiet, clean enough to already be closed up for the night, and the click of the back door resonated loudly.

“Hey, we’re out here,” Ben said, popping in through the swinging service door.

Stammer and Cally were sitting at opposite ends of one of the high tops, Ben returned to his seat between them.

“What’s going on?”

“I didn’t want to do this in front of everyone,” Stammer said, sitting up. “But you guys, you’re the core here. I’d trust you with anything in a heartbeat. You deserve to know.”

Victor’s mind whirred through the many things he could be hinting at. Some of them made it hard to breathe. Stammer looked so serious.

“We’re struggling. The Lightning are struggling, the whole Southeast division is struggling. There aren’t enough people who want to watch hockey coming to watch hockey here. And there certainly aren’t enough people coming here just to eat.” His voice was firm and exact, like he’d rehearsed those words. “I got excited in March when the numbers were looking up but…but they’re not up anymore. We’re losing a lot of money and I don’t think I have enough left to put any more into this. We’re barely covering shifts right now, people are working doubles and overtime left and right. You’re all pulling way more than your fair share of the workload.” He paused, clearing his throat. “I love this place. I think a lot of the people who work here do, too. But, if things stay like this during the playoffs, we’ll be closed before the summer starts. And I don’t know what to do.”

The table sat silent.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Stammer repeated, broken.


	15. Tyler

The first day Kuch went back to work, Tyler didn’t set an alarm. He slept until his room got too hot with the sun shining in and his stomach got too insistent that eating was a thing he should be doing.

He took his time making a strawberry syrup for his toaster waffles and enjoyed them over coffee with too much cream. Luxury at its finest.

His phone vibrated on the counter, lighting up the color of a google calendar notification. _Mom and dad arrive tomorrow._

“Shit.”

It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten the date. Rather, he’d just been silently denying it would ever come. But there was no stopping his parents from showing up at Tampa International in less than twenty-four hours and he and Pally still hadn’t spoken since their complete blow up in the kitchen.

He debated a text, just something simple like _Quit being a dick I need to talk to you_ but thought better of it. Pally would talk to him when he was good and ready. He knew the date, Tyler had typed it into his phone at the same time he did his.

It wouldn’t be hard to explain away his absence at dinner tomorrow night but Tyler really wanted him to be there – as his fake boyfriend or not. Pally was someone his parents would _love_ , his mom would fawn over him and his quiet politeness and old fashioned manners. The guy had an absurd amount of elder magic – old people seriously gravitated to him like crazy. He could woo an eighty year old grandmother just by smiling at her.

Tyler still had a hard time not swearing around children. He was awful.

And his mom made him anxious on top of everything else.

He really wanted Pally there.

 

* * *

 

He drove through the arrivals pick-up as slowly as he could while waiting for his dad to text him that they’d gotten their luggage. Each circle he made agitated the cluster of nerves bunched up in his stomach. His phone buzzed against his hip and he pulled to a stop under the sign for American Airlines.

_Be right out._

He could do this. Everything was going to be fine. It was just his parents, the people who raised him and loved him and thought he had a nice boyfriend for them to meet and coo over.

His mom came out of the terminal already waving, wearing huge white sunglasses and a ridiculous sun hat. Tyler jumped out to greet them both with tight hugs and helped his dad load up the trunk.

“Where’s Ondrej?” his mom asked.

“He had to work.” It wasn’t a lie. Pally had the lunch shift today.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Is he still coming to dinner?”

“I’m not sure.”

The drive to the hotel was filled with small talk and far too much information about Gigi, his mom’s new teacup poodle (It was absolutely _not_ his father’s. Ever). They were nearly there before his mom paused to ask the same question she always asked.

“Any new jobs on the horizon?”

Tyler gritted his teeth. “No, mom. I like the job I have.”

“You could do so much better than a rundown sports bar.”

“It’s not rundown.”

“Oh, it _is_. You should be working in a restaurant with _stars_ by its name. Or at least somewhere that serves more than hamburgers.”

“We serve more than burgers.”

“You’re better than that. You know I just want what’s best for you.”

He didn’t apologize for braking harder than was necessary at the stop sign before turning into the hotel parking lot.

His dad unloaded the trunk while his mom continued talking. “What time are the reservations tonight, darling.”

“Seven-thirty,” Tyler replied. “I’ll be back to pick you up around seven.”

She smiled and reached out to cup his cheeks like she would when he was younger. He felt them flame up in embarrassment. Maybe it was better Pally wasn’t here to witness all this.

“It’s just so good to see you,” she said.

“You too.” He wiggled out of her grip. “Let me know if you need anything while you settle in.”

He blasted the country station all the way back to his apartment in hopes of smothering his nerves. Since nothing else was working. 

~

He still hadn’t heard from Pally by the time he was putting on a pair of dress pants and a tie. He made sure the ringer on his phone was turned up all the way and checked it continually while he brushed his teeth and made his hair lie flat.

It was stupid to think he’d show up. But he waited five more minutes just in case.

Then maybe one minute after that.

_Knock, knock, knock._

Now he was imagining things. God, he was pathetic.

He wasn’t even hungry.

He grabbed his keys and wallet and checked the peephole. No one was there. Of course there wasn’t anyone there.

He turned off the light and locked the door behind him, wishing he could just call the whole thing off. Wishing he could go and take everything back. Wishing he would have just corrected her and never even brought it up.

“Pally?”

He was halfway down the hall toward the stairs in dark blue dress slacks and a fitted white shirt. When he turned around, Tyler saw the silver tie. The guy seriously looked stunning. And that wasn’t a word he used very often, even in his head.

“You showed up.”

“I thought I had missed you. I’m late.”

“I, uh,” he palmed the back of his neck. “I might have been waiting. Just in case.”

“You didn’t answer the door.”

“I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Pally stuck his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t so sure myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, exhaling.

“So am I.”

The words relaxed Tyler even more. “You hungry?”

“I don’t wear ties unless there’s steak involved.”

Tyler laughed. “Yeah, Fleming’s is really the only reason for all this nonsense.”  

“If your parents hate me, I’m getting something to-go.”

“Dude, they’d be more likely to hate me. Seriously, don’t worry about it”    

~

But like a proper gentleman, Pally did worry about it. He offered up the passenger seat to Tyler’s mother and made sure to open all of the doors between her and their table. It made something inside of Tyler spark.

And it didn’t stop there.

Pally ordered wine for the table as if he ever drank anything that wasn’t in the bargain bin and willingly looked at photos of Gigi. He ordered a moderately priced steak and talked to Tyler’s dad about hockey without starting an argument.

He brushed his fingertips across Tyler’s wrist and laughed at his stupid jokes and complimented him when his parents started to get nosey. He talked about how they met in culinary school, how he had dreams of opening his own restaurant one day, how he loved making fresh pasta and getting his hands dirty in the kitchen. He asked good questions and stretched his arm along the back of Tyler’s chair after his second glass of wine.

And Tyler fell incrementally more in love with him with every passing moment.

“Should we get dessert?” his mom asked, eyeing the little menu still sitting on the table.

“The crème brûlée is delicious,” Pally offered, palm dropping down onto Tyler’s shoulder.  

“Oh, that’s my _favorite_ ,” she said. “I have to get it if it’s on the menu.”

“You want the cheesecake?” Pally whispered right up against Tyler’s neck.

Fuck, he did. He wanted the cheesecake and then he wanted to lay Pally on the fucking table and eat him, too. He wondered if he could feel the goosebumps through his shirt. If they made every hair on his body stand up and take notice.

He was being punished.

This is what he got for lying to his mother, lying to himself, lying to his best friend. He got Pally, the perfect boyfriend, practically purring against his ear, radiating heat in all the right places. He got Pally, the perfect boyfriend he would never _ever_ have outside of tonight.

A better man would’ve moved away. A stronger man would’ve gotten his own unrequited feelings under fucking control. A smarter man would’ve excused himself to go to the bathroom and drench himself with ice cold water.

But Tyler was so bad, so weak, so _stupid_. He smiled at Pally. “The cheesecake sounds great.”

He let Pally order for them and flushed a little when the waiter asked if they wanted two spoons. Jesus, he was burning up.

His mom was smirking. “You two remind me of your father and me when we were young and in love. I’m so happy you’ve found someone, honey.”

Pally didn’t even flinch at her words.

“Yeah, it’s uh, yeah,” Tyler said eloquently.

“I don’t know why you hid him all this time,” she grumbled around her wine glass.

“To be fair, you’ve never met any of my other boyfriends.”

“That’s because I could tell they were all wrong for you by the way you’d talk about them. A mother’s intuition.”

All of Tyler’s other boyfriends were, in hindsight, terrible matches for him. His mom wasn’t lying. “Your intuition would’ve been helpful before I spent six months with that guy from the bakery down the street,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

“It makes finding that someone special all the better.”

Blessedly, their desserts came then and Tyler quickly shoved a huge bite in his mouth. There was blueberry sauce on the cheesecake. It was almost better than sex. Almost.

“I wonder if Heddy can make cheesecakes,” he said.

Pally smiled and Tyler was so drunk on the situation he thought his eyes _sparkled._ “I’m sure he can.” He dropped his arm from Tyler’s shoulders to pick up his own spoon and he missed the weight of it immediately.

The waiter brought the check and Pally reached for it.

“Don’t be silly,” his mom said as his dad snatched it off the table. “Tyler chose the restaurant but it was always going to be our treat.”

“Thank you so much.” And Tyler could tell he was sincere.

“We’re in this part of the country so infrequently, it’s nice when we can spoil him a little,” his dad said, slipping his black American Express card in the slot.   

And if Pally didn’t know his parents were loaded, he certainly did now.

“What time do you have to be on the boat tomorrow,” Tyler asked.

“Oh don’t worry about it, we’ll take a cab,” his mom said, scooping the last of her crème brûlée out of the ceramic bowl. “Are you working in the morning?”

“Yeah, just prep before we open. Stammer’s cutting back on lunch staff until the playoffs start.”

“Well that doesn’t seem fair to you.”

“It’s not permanent.”

“Is he giving preference to someone else?”

“No, mom. He’s literally cutting everyone’s hours except the executive chef’s. It’s fine. I’ve been working way more overtime lately anyway.”

“We’ve been short-staffed and now it’s just getting everything back in balance,” Pally said before sipping the last of his wine. “The playoffs are always a big time for us. The schedule will go back to normal then.”

It harshed Tyler’s buzz a little that his parents settled at Pally’s words and not his own. They hugged and kissed cheeks after his dad signed the receipt and his mom happily denied the passenger seat once the car was pulled around by the valet. Tyler didn’t know what she was expecting.

The hotel wasn’t far but they all got out to kiss and hug again.

“He’s lovely, sweetheart, don’t let him go,” his mom whispered as she wrapped him tightly in her arms.

“If you need anything, you let me know, okay?” his dad added with a few firm pats on the back.

Tyler hoped they said less embarrassing things to Pally.

“Oh god, I’m so glad that’s over,” he said once they were both safely back in the car and on the highway.

“Your parents are very sweet.”

“They’d smother me given the chance. Now you know why I had to move across the entire country to get away.”

Pally chuckled. “They love you.”

“They love you too, now. We’ll have to break up before the holidays or you’re going to end up on the Johnson family Christmas card.”

“It’s nice.”

“What is?”

“That you can just…be yourself around them.”

“Yeah,” he said, understanding the hidden weight of the comment. “As much as I complain about them, I never forget how lucky I am that I never had to hide.”

Tyler could feel Pally’s eyes on him and wanted to know which _look_ he was giving him.

“You, uh, really turned on the charm back there,” he continued.

“Was it too much?”

“I think all of my future pretend first dates have a lot to live up to now.”

And maybe that was the wrong thing to say because the rest of the car ride back to his apartment was spent in tense silence. The radio was turned down almost too low to hear but Tyler didn’t want to ruin anything further by reaching Pally’s way to crank the volume. So he kept both hands on the wheel and begged the light to turn green.

He let out a soft breath when his complex came into view. “Uh, where’d you park? I can just drop you off.”

“Right. Um, it’s the spots over by the tennis courts.”

Tyler drove around until he saw Pally’s little car snug between two massive pick-ups. “Assholes.”

“They’re always here,” he said, not moving to get out. “We play musical parking spots most of the time.”

“You didn’t have to do this so, uh, really. Thank you.”

“Why did you have to trick your parents into thinking you’re in a relationship?”

“Because I was stupid and didn’t tell her the tru--.”

“No, I mean…why didn’t you correct her? When she thought it was me, why did you lie?”

 _Because I’m seriously in love with you and I went a little crazy._ “I don’t know.”

Tyler turned to see Pally’s reaction and was met, instead, with a pair of lips softly pressing against his own. _Pally’s_ lips. And his fingers anchoring themselves on his hip across the gearshift and another hand wrapping over the cap of his shoulder and the gentle swipe of his tongue.  

Pally pulled away, just barely, and Tyler opened his eyes to see the pink of embarrassment on the bridge of his nose and his parted lips and his wide eyes, unblinking.

Tyler realized he wasn’t breathing.

Pally inhaled like he was going to say something, but instead, he threw himself out of the car and rushed in front of the headlights to his own driver’s door, recklessly reversing out of the parking spot.

Tyler sat with the engine running until he couldn’t see his tail lights anymore, absently touching his fingertips to the place Pally’s mouth had just been.


	16. Vladislav

Almost everyone was on hand for the final home game of the season. Despite how shitty the crowds had been recently, they were all hoping tonight would be a fitting farewell to a season better left forgotten. Stammer was bouncing all over the place, making sure all the TVs were on the right channel, and then standing still for thirty seconds just breathing, before rushing into the kitchen or out the backdoor to do whatever it was he did.

“You think he’s got a bet on the game?” Vlad asked Ceddy as they continued to roll an obscene amount of silverware. “I’ve never seen him this amped before a game.”

“Except for the playoffs last year.”

“The playoffs don’t count.”

“You got your bracket done?”

“Pretty much. The East is kind of a shit show this year.”

“Bartending side work is awful,” Nikki said, slouching into an empty chair at their table. “And I don’t even get to make drinks tonight.”

“You don’t get to complain around me, remember?” Ceddy said.

“Quit being a baby.”

“Hey, go get some more knives,” Ceddy said, taking the last one of the pile. “And napkins.”

“Lazy,” Vlad muttered, already standing to head for the kitchen. “Anything else?”

“You wanna fill the ketchup bottles after this?”

“Yeah, better now than later.”

The kitchen was in a lull, mostly quiet except for the rhythmic slice of Bish’s knife against his board.

“Hey Jo, we need more knives,” he said, heading for the dishwashing station in the corner.

The kid handed over a full container of steak knives, brown handles still a little wet. “It’s weird back here today,” he said, hushed. “I don’t like it.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Pally and Johnny have been on opposite sides of the room all afternoon, Ben is sad – look at him, he’s been chopping things constantly, sometimes things we don’t even need. Like little strips of carrots. Heddy’s been missing for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t leave, his station’s still a mess. He doesn’t leave things messy.”

Vlad agreed that Bish looked a little down, but. “Pally and Johnny are just weird. I think they look fine.” Pally might be a little pink but the grill is pretty hot, so it’s not surprising. “Heddy’s probably in Stammer’s office trying to calm him down. Don’t worry about it.”

He headed for the dry shelves and pulled out a fresh pile of napkins from the box on the bottom shelf. He’d be able to balance everything on top of the tub of ketchup that was in the walk-in refrigerator – as long as someone had made up a new batch, they were running low last time.

_“You’ve never done serious. Or exclusive. Not in the entire time I’ve known you.”_

_“Maybe I want to try.”_

Oh shit, that was Val and…Heddy?

_“You have to understand how hard it is for me to believe what you’re saying right now.”_

_“I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I wouldn’t joke about it.”_

_“It’s just…it’s not going to be your heart that gets broken when this doesn’t work out.”_

Vlad leaned around the corner as slightly as he could and then inched a bit further when he discovered his position was well hidden by boxes.

Heddy had his arms wrapped around himself, barely even looking at Val.

“You’re not the only one that feels that way, you idiot,” she said, tipping Heddy’s chin up with her fingers. “Quit thinking I’m doing you a favor or something.”

“You deserve someo--.”

“I deserve one night stands and assholes. You’re way above my paygrade, Hedman.”

“What if this is wrong?” Heddy asked, barely above a whisper.

“Then we’ll be wrong together.”

Vlad couldn’t decide if he wanted to throw up or not. Instead, he took that moment to burst from hiding. “Oh hey guys, I was just looking for the ket—ahg!”

Val rocked up onto her toes to plant a very tongue-heavy kiss on Heddy’s mouth.

He’d get the ketchup later.

“You will not guess what I just witnessed in there,” Vlad said, tossing down the napkins. “God, it was like a fucking romance novel. Your roommate is gross.”

“What’d she do now?” Nikki asked.

“She’s kissing Heddy in the walk-in.”

They both burst out in laughter.

“Yeah, super funny since you weren’t the one who had to see it. Fuckers.”

~

 _Puck_ wasn’t on a wait, but most of the tables and bar space were filled by the time the puck dropped that night. Beer and electric blue cocktails were going out as fast as Boyler and Killer could make them. The last time Vlad went into the kitchen to drop off dishes, it was humming along in comfortable unity, the grill covered in burger patties.

“I can’t believe this is a team that’s in the playoffs instead of us,” Ceddy said after watching one of the Capitals flub the puck on a wide-open net.

“It’s zero-zero.” Vlad said. “As if we have any room to talk.”

“We were _so good_ last year.”

“Go do your job,” he said, nodding at the group that just walked in.

“I am doing my job,” Ceddy complained. “I’m adding to the game atmosphere of the restaurant.”

The crowd sucked in a unified breath and groaned. Someone missed a shot.

“There’s more than enough game atmosphere.”

“It’s like you don’t even want them to win. Didn’t even wear a jersey.”

“Excuse me if I don’t want my signed Ruslan Fedotenko jersey to get covered in grease.”

Ceddy relented and sat the group with a polite smile and a rundown of their game night specials before making a slow circle back toward the host stand, eyes glued to the screen over the bar.

Once he made it all the way back to the front, everyone erupted in cheers – the Lightning scored.

~

All of the paying patrons left well after midnight to carry on the party somewhere that was actually open late on purpose. Killer stayed behind the bar to start counting down the registers and everyone else waited around until the kitchen was clean and all the servers had tipped-out. Pally was the last one to clock-out and Kuch, who had shown up late in the third period, announced he was making the first round of shots.

They were going to send off this season with a bang.

Someone else cranked the music and Val immediately jumped up on top of the bar, doing her best to pull Nikki and Stralsy with her. Heddy was smart to stay an arms-length away, but he was smiling like an idiot at her anyway. Stammer walked a pair of shots over to where Bish was sitting alone, well away from the commotion.

Ceddy was shaking him and trying to tug him over to Jo and Vasy and their pitcher of terrible light beer someone gave them but Vlad resisted, caught up in watching the way Bish looked so tired and Stammer looked so sad. They were talking and he wished he could hear what they were saying – it certainly wasn’t hockey.

Hockey was a happy topic tonight.

“Val!” Kuch yelled. “Grab ping pong balls, yes?”

Still on the bar, she walked around to the far side and ducked under the hanging glasses to fetch the two ping pong balls they all guarded with their life.

“Who wants to be on winning team?”

“I’ve got dibs on Heddy,” Val said, climbing down off her perch into her partner’s arms. She pulled him right down into a kiss and the group howled with delight. “Get ready to lose, suckers.”

Val and Heddy played Kuch and Johnny first as other pairs waited in the wings. Jason showed up with his arm brace and stitches around 1:30 and tapped in as a celebrity shot. He nailed every cup he aimed for.

“That’s not fair!” Johnny cried before drinking the most recent cup of beer. “Vladdy, get over here and shoot for us.”

He wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be super effective but he did knock out an island cup, which was helpful. “That’s all I’ve got,” he said, handing the ball off to Kuch.

“Would have been better if you called,” he said, missing his next shot off the rim.

“Gotta shoot for those triangles, man.”

“Fuck off.”

Johnny bounced one in while Val had Heddy’s attention zeroed in on her mouth. “That’s two!”

Jason happily took care of both drinks for them.

“How did Katie let you out of the house looking like this?” Ceddy asked, indicating the cut above his eyebrow and the fading bruise on his cheekbone.

He huffed. “We broke up before the accident.”

“Aw, fuck. I’m sorry, man.”

“Nothing a few six-packs won’t cure, eh?”

“You want one of those blue things Killer makes? You know they’re strong.”

“I’m still on pain meds,” he said, lifting his arm slightly. “I shouldn’t be drinking at all.”

“Live a little.”

Jason didn’t have a choice as Ceddy pushed him towards the bar. Vlad checked back in with the game just in time to watch Heddy sink one of the last two cups.

“What the fuck! You were doing fine before I walked away!” he shouted at Johnny, who was looking a little worse for wear. _Lightweight_.

“Yes, and then you walked away,” he slurred. “Take this cup.”

Vlad gladly accepted the beer. “Go find Pally to fall asleep on. I’ll finish up here.”

“He’s not…he went home.”

Vlad thought that was weird but he hip-checked him out of the shooting lane anyway. “You shoot first,” he said to Kuch.

Kuch missed the cluster of cups by a mile.

“Worthless.”

“We should play after this,” Nikki said after rushing over to sling her arm around his shoulders. “I’m good and lubed up.”

“That is such a gross way to word that.”

“Dirty mind.” Her breath was sticky and hot against his ear. It smelled like vodka.

“I will let you be my partner as long as you quit saying shit like that.” He shimmied out from under her arm and hit another cup.

“Aw, c’mon study buddy, you’re no _fun._ ”

Vlad groaned at the mention of school. “Please also refrain from mentioning any kind of studying.”

“Finals are coming up. It’s almost summer!”

“Fuck you,” he said, resigned. “I know.”

“We’ve still got our date on Sunday.”

The pit of dread that lived in his stomach opened wide at her words. He needed to fill it with more alcohol. “Yes. And until then, we’re not talking about school or finals or papers or studying.”

Nikki saluted him and giggled.

“You make him look angry,” Kuch said. “Terrible partner.”

“You’re not off the hook yet,” Vlad scolded. “Make a fucking cup, would you?”

“Bossy. Is not even our turn.”

Heddy missed his shot – which was fair since Val’s fingers were wrapped low around his hip. Kuch at least hit the table on his next try.

 

* * *

 

When the Sunday before finals week finally rolled around, Vlad dumped his textbooks and poorly taken notes into his backpack and dutifully headed over to Nikki’s. She answered the door with her hair piled on top of her head and a manic look in her eye.

“We definitely should not have waited until now to start studying.”

The living room table was covered in paper and notecards highlighted a thousand different colors, all in Nikki’s chicken scratch handwriting.

“What are you working on?”

“Uh, stats. I think. But I can help you with whatever. I need a break.”

“You’re an ace at stats, why are you even spending time on it?”

“Shhhh, you’ll jinx it.”

Vlad settled on the couch and started pulling out all of his shit. “Ethics is my last final, so I was gonna start with it first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“If I go backwards, the one I have tomorrow will be the freshest in my mind.”

“That’s not how it works. You can’t cram for three exams in one day.”

“I most certainly can.” He pulled the small bag out of his pocket that held his last two Adderall pills.

“Is it really that awesome?”

“I would’ve failed out years ago.” He fished one out and swallowed it dry. “Let’s do this.”

~

By one in the morning, the Adderall wasn’t working anymore or he was just so used to being hopped up on it all the time it felt normal. He had also booked through a couple Red Bulls an hour ago. Or maybe two. Maybe he was crashing. He didn’t remember the last time he ate.

He’d been reading the same paragraph for the last twenty minutes, at least. The motivation to push through the rest of the textbook had left him around the time Nikki fell asleep with her statistics problem set resting on her chest. Seth, who came over around dinner time, was also passed out in a chair with his neck tilted back and mouth hanging wide open.

Vlad still had five chapters of notes to go through for his Sales and Management final on top of the textbook.

“When d’you take your last pill?” Killer asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“Huh?”

“When did you take the Adderall last?” She handed him a glass of water and a chocolatey-looking protein bar.

“I dunno, a few hours ago?”

“And when’s your first final?”

“Ten.”

“Yeah, you’re going to hate yourself,” she said, matter-of-fact. “What class?”

“Management. It fucking sucks. This shit just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Gimme your notecards,” she said, settling onto the floor next to the couch. “And eat that.”

He passed over the color-coded index cards Seth had suggested he make around the time Nikki had started chanting formulas. They had his scribbled attempts at simplifying the main concepts, but he wasn’t sure if they were even right. He ripped into the protein bar and took a huge bite. It was delicious.

“What color are you struggling with the most?”

“All of them.”

“That can’t be true.”

Vlad sighed, stuffed another bite of chocolate bar in his face. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You’ve all been camped out here in my living room for an entire day. You obviously suck at time management. Luckily, I am able to bestow some of my superior knowledge on you in this area. I didn’t graduate from Harvard by having lackluster study skills.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Okay, so the pink and orange I’m pretty solid with, I guess. The green is probably the worst, it’s got the most math involved.”

“What about purple?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. Lotta vocab.”

“Vocab’s easy. Let’s do this.”

He flashed back to the beginning of the day when he had the same mantra and wished he still felt as spry and hopeful as he did then. His final was in eight hours. Surely he could get through all of his notecards and the textbook in eight hours.

He shoved the rest of the protein bar in his mouth and listened as Killer read off the first question.


	17. Ben

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit on the short side. Don't hate me.
> 
> Also, please excuse Tyler's sexual orientation idiocy.

Ben rolled over to where Brian had been sleeping a couple hours ago. It wasn’t warm anymore but there was a hint of whatever he put in his hair still on the pillow. It was nice. Even if nothing else around him felt nice.

They’d had another meeting last night after the few regulars filed out. Ryan wasn’t there but Brian closed down the bar and sat in for him. Ben didn’t actually know where Ryan was but Stammer and Heddy didn’t seem too worried about it.

Stammer had dropped the bad news as gently as he could. They’d only made about three thousand dollars in the last week, factoring in everyone’s pay. And that included the final home game crowd.

There was barely enough to order food and keep the lights on.

It was awful. Ben knew he’d shown his emotion all over his face but Heddy hadn’t looked any better than he felt. Even with the prospect on the horizon, watching the Lightning play their last game in the place nearly brought him to tears. And Stammer was just…Ben hated seeing him look that beaten down.

They still agreed, unanimously, to stay open throughout the playoffs. Just in case there was a miracle waiting around the corner.

But then that was it.

There was an expiry date now.

Ben threw himself out of bed with a heavy sigh and slumped into the shower. To be fair, he should probably start looking for a new job.

The thought alone made him sick.

~

Brian was closing the bar that night so Ben startled at the harsh knock that came with no warning around six-thirty. He had been reading and was still wearing his glasses when he answered the door.

“Oh good, you’re home,” Johnny said, looking smaller than usual. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, stepping away to let him pass. “Is everything okay?”

“I have no idea.”

He followed him to the couch where Johnny settled in the spot next to his open book. Ben marked the page he was on and sat down as well. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, not really sure how to start the conversation Johnny clearly wanted to have.

Eventually he sighed. “I know we don’t usually do this,” Johnny said. “But the person I talk to about shit…I can’t talk to him about this.”

“Okay.”

When Johnny looked up at him, he seemed a little wild around the eyes, like his mind was going a mile a minute. “Promise me you won’t laugh.”

“Dude, what? You’re freaking me out, just tell me.”

“Pally kissed me.”

And okay, that was not even close to being on the list of things Ben thought was going to come out of his mouth.

“We had dinner with my parents and then he kissed me.”

“I…uh, didn’t know Pally kissed guys,” he said, totally out of his depth on what to do in this situation.

“Me either!” Johnny shouted. “He’s _always_ taken home girls, right? And it’s not like we fucked or anything, it was just a kiss, but now he’s not talking to me and I just…I miss…things.”

“How long have you been in love with him?”

He didn’t startle or fight back or start to deny it; he just hung his head is resignation. “Objectively, like, probably a long time. But I didn’t really realize it until recently.”

“Until the kiss?’

Johnny shrugged. “Around there.”

“And you haven’t told him becau--.”

“—cause he’s straight.”

Ben exhaled and slumped back against the couch. “Straight- _ish_.”

“Straight girls kiss their friends all the time.”

“Yeah, when they’re wasted,” Ben said, snorting. “Not after a nice dinner with their bro’s parents.”

“You think it means something?”

Ben purposefully swallowed in the face of Johnny’s earnest look. “I’m not saying anything for sure. But when Brian kissed me after our first date, it pretty much meant he wanted to bang me so…”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“He met your parents and it ended with a kiss. It was totally a date.”

“It was a fake-date.”

“A fake-date?”

Johnny sucked in a deep breath. “Remember you’re not allowed to laugh.”

Ben nodded in agreement.

“My parents were coming down to go on a cruise and wanted to have dinner with me and then my mom was all _bring your boyfriend_ and I was like, what?, and she was like, you know, that boy you always talk about from work, we know you’ve been dating, we want to meet him and I said okay.”

“And Pally went along with it?” he asked, trying desperately not to laugh.

“He said it was fine but then he got pissed because I basically lied to my mom and then we didn’t talk for like, a week, and then he showed up at my apartment in a silver tie.”

“A silver tie.”

“It looked so fucking good on him. Y’know, with his eyes.”

“He showed up in a silver tie and you went to dinner to meet your parents.”

“Yes.”

“And what happened at dinner?”

Johnny’s cheeks pinked up and he quickly started picking at something invisible on his pants. “He played the part.”

“The part?”

“The part of my boyfriend! He fucking…put his arm around me and complimented me and ordered dessert for us to share!”

“And then he kissed you.”

“Yes!”

Ben raised his eyebrows in wait. Johnny could not possibly be this stupid.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re stupid.”

“No I’m not.” Johnny crossed his arms in a huff.

He didn’t have time for this. “I’m ordering Thai food and opening a bottle of wine. Do you want something?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, still pouting like a spoiled child.

“And then we’re gonna play some Call of Duty and you’re going to pull your head out of your ass.”

~

Two orders of pad thai, a bottle and a half of wine, and three hours of video games later, Johnny was less pouty and Ben had silently made up his mind to actually start scouting out open chef positions in the area.

“You know this talking thing goes both ways,” Johnny said, viciously jabbing at his controller.

“My relationship is fine,” he replied. “It’s amazing, actually.”

“Vlad told Ceddy who told me that you looked sad on Tuesday night after the game. Kind of like how you look sad right now.”

Damn it. “It was the end of a terrible season.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“You are the biggest gossip in the entire kitchen.”

“Then gimme something good.”

There were pros and cons of letting the cat out of the bag and Ben didn’t have the desire to actually figure out how they balanced. It wasn’t going to stay a secret for very much longer anyway. “Stammer doesn’t think we’re gonna stay open much longer.”

Johnny paused the game immediately. “Excuse me?”

“You wanted to know what’s wrong. Why I looked upset, or whatever.”

“We’re closing? Like, for real.”

“At the end of the playoffs, most likely.” Even knowing it was going to happen, he still refused to say it was certain.

“What the _fuck_! When was he going to tell the rest of us?”

“I dunno.”

“He can’t just close it,” Johnny said, firm.

“Unless you’ve got a bunch of money stashed away somewhere, there’s not really anything we can do.”

“How much do we need?”

“Too much.”

“Fuck.”

“I know.”

They both sat there for a while, staring at the paused TV screen in silence. Ben didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, telling Johnny. Everyone would know about it by the weekend. But maybe that would make it seem more real, if more than just Stammer, Brian, Heddy, Ryan, and him knew they were all working in a sinking ship. It didn’t really make him feel any better, though.

His phone chimed. _Got off early, can I come over?_

_Yes pls. Johnny’s here too_

“Brian’s coming over.”

“I thought he was closing?”

“Got off early.”

“Damn, it must’ve been real slow. That sucks.”

_Is he still being weird about Pally?_

_Just wait until u hear the story behind it_

“Should I go?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Let’s finish this level.”

Johnny sat up from where he’d slouched and unpaused the game. Ben immediately got shot and spent the next twenty minutes watching Johnny demolish everyone in his path. The guy was amazing at video games.

Brian knocked and let himself in not long after.

“Got his own key already?” Johnny said. “Moving fast, Bishie.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Ben leaned up for a kiss, meeting Brian halfway. “You don’t get one,” Brian said, pointing his finger at Johnny. “What’re we playing?”

“Call of Duty.”

“And drinking wine, so adorable,” he said.

“Johnny’s having relationship issues.”

“Hey!” he yelled, slapping high on Ben’s shoulder.

“Aw, you and Pally have a lover’s quarrel?”

“You _told him already_?”

Ben laughed at the way Johnny’s jaw dropped. “Didn’t say a word.”

“This isn’t fair.”

Brian squeezed his way into the space between them on the couch and slung his arms around their shoulders. “If you’re seriously having problems with Pally, why are you sitting here?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Ben supplied.

“Word from the wise,” Brian said. “Not talking about it never did anyone any good. Ever.”

“Uhg,” Johnny said, standing up. “I suddenly feel like I’m getting advice from my gay uncles or something.”

“We’re not that old,” Ben complained.

“You’re closer to thirty than I am.”

“When did thirty get _old_?” Ben said, exasperated.

Johnny shook his head. “Does he know about the restaurant?”

“Wait, I didn’t think we were telling anyone,” Brian said, narrowing his eyes at Ben.

“It just kind of happened.”

“Who all knows?” Johnny asked.

“Us and Ryan and Heddy.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

“It pays to be friends with a manager and the owner’s right hand man,” Brian said.

“Oh you two are friends?” Johnny said, pointing at the pair of them on the couch.

“Sex friends,” he clarified.

“You guys definitely have some competition for grossest couple,” he said, stuffing his wallet in his back pocket. “Now that Val and Heddy finally agreed to stop circling each other and looking miserable.”

“She’s gonna eat him alive,” Brian said.

“I think he likes that sort of thing. Anyway, thanks for listening to me and almost not laughing. I’m gonna go sit in the dark or something.”

“Next time bring your own wine.”

“Pfft.”

“Stammer cut the kitchen early too,” Brian shouted after him. “If you wanted to swing by Pally’s place, he’s probably home by now.”

Ben couldn’t hear Johnny’s reply but was certain it was filled with profanity.

“He’s not going to talk to him, is he,” Brian said once the door clicked shut.

“Probably not.”

“I told you they were weird about each other.”

“We knew that way before you showed up.”

Brian tugged Ben closer and he curled up against him, running his fingers down his chest and stomach.

“Did we do any business tonight?”

He felt Brian shrug. “I do have _some_ good news on that front, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben tilted his chin up to catch Brian’s smile.

“I think Ryan’s plan worked.”

“What plan?”

“It’s a great plan.”

“You gonna enlighten me?”

“Maybe.”

Ben pushed up and away from the warmth of Brian’s body. “How long has this _plan_ been in motion?”

“Since Ryan found out the place was going under. He didn’t want to take any time off until the season was over but desperate times and all that.”

“Where did he _go_?”

“New York.”


	18. Steven

Steven got to _Puck_ early in the morning on Monday. The sun was just coming up as he pulled into the parking lot and let himself in through the back door. The dining room was dark, all the lights and TVs were off. It felt nice just to be there.

He went through the motions of flipping all the switches and unlocking the registers and wiping down the tables and turning on the grill and the fryer. He sharpened the set of knives on Johnny’s station and then checked the temperatures in the freezer and the walk-in.

And then he turned everything back off.

And took a deep breath.

And sat at his desk.

It wasn’t fair when things didn’t work out the way they should. It wasn’t fair when someone tried as hard as he had, only to fail. It wasn’t fair that he couldn’t do it, no matter how badly he wanted it.

In an overwhelming surge of anger, he shoved the stacks of papers and file folders and angry red reminders from his desk in one swoop, slamming his fists down onto the empty space as the mess settled. He wanted to scream and maybe cry a little. He wanted to punch a hole in the wall and dig his nails into the floorboards and never let go.

It wasn’t _fair_.

The first games of the playoffs were tonight and Steven wanted every series  in all four rounds to go a full seven games, dragging out the inevitable as long as possible. But a small part of him wished for quick and efficient mercy. An even smaller part of him wanted to give up right now.

He got up and dug through the pantry for the instant coffee they had ordered at the beginning of the year when Heddy needed it for his attempts at a tiramisu pie. He popped a mug of water in the microwave and waited.

He had debated calling Vinny or Marty and asking for help, or at least letting them know that their baby was going under, but every time he pulled up one of their numbers his gut tied itself into a knot.

He had the urge to call them again now, when he was alone with the place. Maybe talk them through a walk-through, tell them what he changed, what he left the same, how there was still the display case of pucks above the bar and the picture of them at Game 1 of the 2004 Stanley Cup Finals.

Mostly he just wanted to apologize.

The microwave beeped and he poured a generous scoop of coffee into the steaming mug, stirring until all the granules dissolved. It was really terrible coffee, which was probably one of the reasons why Heddy’s pie hadn’t worked out like he had hoped.

Steven took a huge gulp and burned the shit out of his tongue. Perfect.

Avoiding the mess of his office, he took a seat at the bar and squinted at the liquor labels until he felt a little more alive, a little more caffeinated. The bar itself was all carved up with names and initials and little hearts and lightning bolts. He ran his fingers over the etchings and he then got up to search for his own mark – two little jagged S’s and a 19. If he had played hockey, he would’ve worn that number for sure, all the great players did.

And he would’ve been great.

He scrolled through the NHL app on his phone and frowned at the newest articles that had popped up, everyone placing odds on who would win the Cup. Blah, blah, blah the Penguins blah, blah. Their first round series against the Flyers would be a shit show and he had no problem putting them in the L column on his bracket.

Sidney Crosby or no Sidney Crosby, they weren’t going to beat Philadelphia.

His attention was drawn to a key fiddling with the front door lock. Sunlight filtered in behind the person when they opened the door, casting them in full shadow. Steven didn’t immediately recognize their height and build.

“Hey boss.”

It was Ryan. “You’re back.”

“I saw your car in the lot so I stopped.”

“What are you doing up this early?” It wasn’t even eight yet.

Ryan walked over to where he was still sitting and slid a small rectangle of paper onto the bar.

“What is this?” he asked, knowing full well it looked like a check for fifty thousand dollars.

“It’s my cut of the insurance money. From the bar fire.”

“ _What_?”

“The place was in Danny’s name, so the settlement check went to him. He offered to give it to me back in February when it came in but I just…I didn’t want anything from him. I didn’t want to have his money.”

“I can’t take this,” he said, astounded. He could feel his pulse in his ears and his skin prickled re-reading the amount printed on the check.

“I went to New York.”

He snapped his head up to face Ryan. He looked calm. He looked sure.

“I went to go get you that check. It’s yours.”

Steven ran his finger along the edge of it. It didn’t feel real.

“Do you remember that first day when I walked in with my resume?”

“I was pissed because you came in during dinner and we actually had a crowd.”

Ryan smiled. “I just wanted a job to hold me over until I could find something better. I needed to pay the rent and I knew you were hiring, knew I probably had a good chance since you already hired someone with my same experience. And then I actually met you.”

“And?” Steven didn't get where he was going with this.

“And you were running this place on your own, treading water as fast as you could to keep everyone else from drowning. You hadn’t taken a day off in months. You were here every night to watch the place close and then again first thing in the morning.”

“So?”

“So you were such a control freak you could barely let me place a food order without double-checking my work. You are so in love with this place that you won’t let anyone help you. But Steve…you’ve surrounded yourself with people who would walk to the ends of the earth for you. Haven’t you noticed they’ve been treading water too? Have you even taken the time to look at how this place closing effects them? You can see it all over Ben’s face and the way Heddy carries himself. It’s not just your failure if these doors close. You don’t have to do this on your own just because you’re the leader.”

“This isn’t going to save us,” he said, indicating the check. “It’s just going to prolong the inevitable for a few more months the way we’re going.”

“You know, I’m not sure if I ever told you that I ran my own bar back in New York? It didn’t do too bad, made a pretty nice living off of it. I had a really great partner who was awesome at promotions. As a matter of fact,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. “I think you might actually know him, Brian? He sometimes goes by Boyler, I’ve got his phone number if you want to give him a call. See if he can’t work some of his magic for y--.”

“Okay stop,” he said, trying to swipe Ryan’s phone from his hand. “I get it. I get it.”

“Do you?”

“I just don’t understand why you want to help me. Why you wouldn’t just quit and find something better.”

“Consider it my grand gesture,” he said, turning away towards the front door once the words settled in.

“Hey, no, what?” Steven stuttered as he rushed to block his path. “Normal people don’t drop fifty grand in their co-worker’s lap and walk away.”

“You’re not really just my co-worker.”

“No?” Steven felt a little flutter in his chest, something he hadn’t really felt in a long time.

“I told you I was gonna rock your world,” Ryan replied, grin slightly less cocky than the first time he said it on the day he started, sitting all confident in Steven's office as he floundered around like an idiot. “And I’m not the kind of guy who goes back on his word.”

Steven really wanted to kiss him then. Just lean down and press against his lips, push his fingers into the dark hair at the nape of his neck, and breathe him in.

So he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, I love you. Thank you so much to every single one of you who gave this story a go. To the commenters and the kudos-leavers, you’re the reason I finished this as quickly as I did (even though three months really isn’t that speedy, I guess). You’re awesome. Go Bolts!!
> 
> But now I know you’re probably sitting there thinking, that’s all fine and good but what about Johnny and Pally? Are Val and Heddy really going to make it? Is Puck going to be able to survive another year? Will Steven and Ryan realize they’re made for each other and skate off into the sunset? And I want to know more about [insert minor character with hardly any backstory]! Eighteen chapters wasn’t enough!! *shakes fist*
> 
> Fear not friends, because there’s going to be a Part 2. Probably. 
> 
> You can find me and yell at me on tumblr: lecavayay for hockey and fic stuff or oirowin for non-hockey fandom things (this is also my main blog so all my likes and follows are from this url).


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